


Noble Intentions

by CarolNJoy



Series: Defining Nobility [2]
Category: Beauty and the Beast (1991), Beauty and the Beast - All Media Types
Genre: 18th Century, Character Study, Declarations Of Love, Disney, Drama, F/M, France (Country), Friendship, Heartbreak, Historical, Love Triangles, Love/Hate, Nobility, Off-screen Relationship(s), Origin Story, Pre-Canon, Pre-Movie(s), Romance, Sequel, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2018-08-14 14:28:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 61,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8017561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarolNJoy/pseuds/CarolNJoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Book II: In a final attempt to purge the last of his feelings for Babette, Lumière reunites with his old friend, Nicolas, for a well-deserved holiday. Meanwhile, Babette continues to grapple with her decision as she finds herself caught between two loves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Water under the Bridge

**Author's Note:**

> As this is a sequel, I should warn you that I make references to the events of the previous book, "Noble Sentiments" multiple times as I write this, though I try to summarize when I feel the need to. I'm upping the ante on the drama that ensues, so if you wish to continue without reading the previous story, enter at your own peril! (You also might not know what's going on, so there's that.)
> 
> Heartbreak is a predominant theme here, and I wanted to explore how both Lumière and Babette face it and overcome it. 
> 
> This picks up a little after where I left off at the end of the last book. I will fill in the holes of what's happened as I go along in the story.
> 
> Enjoy! Criticisms are welcome!

_April, 1740_

Gentle rain tapped rhythmically against the glass panes of le Château du Lac. Easter had come and passed. The château now empty again, its residents, royalty and servants alike, could take a well-deserved day of rest to recuperate from the festivities and events of Holy Week.

With this major point of focus gone, Lumière's mind became restless once more. Months had gone by: three and a half, almost four. Spring had arrived. Refreshing rain had swept in to wash away the memories of winter. The castle continued to be as bustling as ever. Easter had taken over a month of preparations, a task Lumière had wholeheartedly welcomed. With plenty to do, there was no time to think. With no time to think, there was no time to remember.

Lumière watched the rain patter lazily against his chamber window. Maybe it could not cleanse him while he remained inside.

He followed where his feet took him, the stables becoming his pinnacle of focus for the brief time it took to get there. As he entered them, the smell of straw tinged with soaked wood met his nostrils. The sound of the rain felt more soothing out here, and he allowed himself a deep breath of the clean air to absorb what he could of his surroundings.

He thoughtfully stepped to the edge of the stables, stopping at the blurry wall of ever-falling droplets as he let himself lean against a post. Staring out at pale grey clouds and evergreen trees in the distance, he thought about all of the time wasted—no… _yes_ , wasted—contemplating all of the memories of those short several weeks that still made him feel a rush of want and passion, that still made him regret and kick himself, and made him smile and laugh. Whenever he felt he was finally beginning to move on, the thought of her name or a flash of her face would dart across his mind, and he would have to resign to the fact that he was not ready. How much time did it take? How much time would he need? Each day this went on, he felt weaker, because if he was strong enough, this would all be behind him by now.

It was like he was suffering from a mental block, but of his heart. He did not feel anything the same as before. Not for his work, and not for women. Though he was eating the same diet as always, the taste was dulled. Colors appeared monochrome. When he wanted to really _feel,_ he wasn't able, and he couldn't force himself to be. The passion he had felt for what he did had faded somehow. He knew it was there still. It had to be. But how could he access that part of himself again when he did not know how?

He had failed on his own to overcome this heartache, despite having suffered from a broken heart before. But none of those previous were of this magnitude, he realized. Still, no matter how much he spoke of his problem to those he trusted, like Mrs. Potts or Angélique, their advice and comforting words could not cure him.

What was it then? Was he holding himself back? Still hoping that it was possible? That she would spurn her title and return to him? No, because that would be ridiculous. _He_ would not even approve of those actions, because that would mean she had abandoned her family and bloodline, along with her duties as a future countess. There were plenty of things he would do for love, but there was a line—

Wait, _love?_

At this point, Lumière did not know what it was: love or an obsession with a ghost. It had been so long since she had left that what he imagined could be the compilation of what he believed her to be, which was everything he could want in a woman. She was now a figment of his love-addled mind, a fantasy that could bring him no tangible joy in the present or his future.

It was time. It was more than the right time.

Withdrawing a hand from his pocket, he timidly immersed it in the rain, letting the drops fall and trickle off of his palm. Taking another full breath of the world around him, he brought out his other hand, cupping the water until it overflowed and then splashing it on his face.

It was cold and crisp but it felt renewing. Perhaps not as significant or potent as a baptism, but it was a kind of cleansing that left him feeling as though he could truly start fresh, and go back to living in the present like he had always done.

He wiped the excess water from his eyes and chin, shaking it off of his fingers. Heading to return inside, he spotted the burly, chestnut stallion looking over at him curiously. A gloved hand petted his nose, and a pair of light blue eyes over scarlet lips turned to face him.

Lumière shook his head, furiously using his sleeve to mop his face dry. Opening his eyes, the vision was gone. The stallion huffed and nodded at him as though to say, _What's the matter with you?_

The maître d' raised an eyebrow at the horse, rather peeved at himself. _Don't ask._

The stallion stared after him as he strode back into the château while the tip-tapping of the rain continued to create music on the stable roof.

* * *

" _Do not utter a_ word _," Cogsworth made sure to order, approaching Lumière at his full height._

_Lumière was at a loss for words to begin with. After the nobles had left on Christmas Day, he had just entered the library in the hopes of finding seclusion only to find he had been in pursuit by none other than Cogsworth. Not to mention this was the fiercest the majordomo had ever appeared._

" _Lumière," he began, his voice low. "I have managed this household for six years, and before that, I was Her Majesty's head of affairs for five. For eleven years, I have put in all of my efforts into this regime to make my Queen and King's lives as blissful and easy as is within my power; all of the servants here are under my meticulous supervision, just as the counts and barons of the province are under Their Majesties." His eyes bore down on the maître d'. "There was one girl—_ one _—that was under both_ _mine_ and _Their Majesties' protection._ One _girl that was within your reach yet you had no right to. In all of my days, in England and France, this is by far, the_ most _intolerable and_ disrespectful _transgression I have ever had the misfortune of being in authority over." A threatening finger was pointed at Lumière's heart. "You_ will _be reprimanded for this."_

_Over the course of Cogsworth's speech, Lumière was stunned at not only the majordomo's words, but the deadly expression he wore. He had never seen him so furious. But at the mention of Babette, whatever anger Cogsworth felt was matched._

" _Fine!" Lumière cried, letting his vexation overflow. "Tie me to the post and give me forty lashes! Or hook me to a wagon and let the horse drag me through the mud all the way to Paris. Oh! I know: Use the Christmas trees to make a crucifix! Whatever punishment you deem_ worthy _could not be worse than what I now feel."_

" _Oh, you melodramatic, selfish_ ninny! _" Cogsworth exclaimed, his volume rising. "This isn't about_ you! _It never was! All she had to do was live and work here, as her parents bid me, and_ you _couldn't keep your womanizing nose out of her business! I told you, Lumière, I_ told _you specifically and in crystal clear terms that she was an_ aristocrat! _A daughter of a_ count! _Only a_ cad _would continue to pursue a woman_ far _out of his league, in breeding_ and _decency—!"_

 _Lumière burst out laughing. Was he really having this conversation? "Do you think that never occurred to me? That I_ chose _to feel this way?_ _Of_ course, _she was above me! She is a goddess compared to what I am."_

 _His flushed face almost a shade of purple, Cogsworth bellowed, "Then_ what were you thinking? _"_

_The words caught in his throat. Lumière turned away, running his hands through his hair agitatedly and straightening his vest, anything to keep his hands busy and distracted. The truth, that he could love her, hit him like a sucker punch to the stomach._

_Cogsworth glared at the pacing maître d', eyes narrowing. "Exactly as I suspected: Nothing."_

_Lumière turned on him, staring daggers. "Excuse me?"_

" _As you've shown time and again, you think nothing of the consequences of your actions, ever since you set foot in this castle! With all that you've done, I certainly have the grounds to dismiss you permanently."_

_Lumière's glare waned, the severity of this argument finally coming upon him. "You would fire me?"_

_Cogsworth briefly glanced away, but overcame his hesitation. "Despite your work in the kitchens, this can outweigh it all. You did more than disrespect me, Lumière. You disrespected the Chantemerle, not only at the ball, but this morning, keeping Babette from leaving!"_

_He couldn't let Cogsworth make him feel guilty for his feelings, not more than he already did. Passion reigniting, he voiced, "If you could even_ begin _to comprehend the dearest affection I have for her—"_

_The library's door opened, and both servants swiveled their heads to it and froze._

" _Your Majesty," they acknowledged in unison._

" _Gentlemen," Queen Beatrice replied, entering the library carefully as she sensed the tension that vibrated between them. She smiled as both relaxed their clenched fists and fighting stances to bow respectfully. "What seems to be the trouble?"_

_Before Lumière could get a word in edgewise, Cogsworth stepped forward. "Your Grace, I hope we did not disturb you. I recognize that perhaps our… argument was not at an appropriate volume, and I first wish to beg your pardon on my carelessness."_

" _Of course, Cogsworth, there was no harm in it," the Queen pardoned with fondness._

" _Thank you, Mistress," he said with an inclination of his head. "Now, to the trouble that you had addressed, I can point no further than to this man." And he aimed a finger in Lumière's direction._

" _Wait!" the maître d' blurted. This misunderstanding had to end before a livelihood was ended, and frankly, Lumière couldn't bear to lose the only part of himself he had left. "Please, Your Grace, I know I cannot undo what's been done, but I implore you to sympathize—"_

" _Lumière," the Queen interrupting, but not unkindly. With keen eyes, she nodded to him. "If you could excuse us, I believe you deserve some rest after the trying holiday you've had."_

 _Though hesitant and fearful, Lumière consented humbly, "As you command,_ ma reine _."_

_As he took his leave, the Queen gave him a subtle wink before he passed her._

"Lumière."

He looked up to find Angélique had been walking in stride with him trying to get his attention.

She smiled at his quizzical expression. "Still living in your mind, are we?" He rolled his eyes, but she added, "Honestly, I never knew you were capable of being this pensive."

Though he glared, a flicker of a smile was visible. "To what do I owe this particular pleasure, Angélique?"

She observed his façade for a moment. His hands were clasped professionally behind his back, and he walked as tall and straight as was characteristic of him, which was a large improvement from several weeks ago. His face even seemed relaxed, yet there was still that contemplative line set between his eyebrows. The eyes were the telling feature, and his grey ones still lacked the same alertness and sparkle that she had known him to always possess. _I hope this will help him…_

Angélique cleared her throat nonchalantly. "I have not been to check on you recently, with all that went on to prepare for Easter…" She glanced up for any physical responses. "How are you?"

The maître d' shrugged. "As well as I can be." Noticing that she seemed to be treading on eggshells, he glanced sideways at her, inquiring, "Would there be a specific reason for you to ask?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Other than the fact that you were practically sleep-walking a moment ago?"

Trying to restrain any indignation, he defended, "What else can you expect? This holiday took all of the energy I could spare."

"Oh, of course. I do not doubt that," she agreed knowingly. "It _has_ been unending chaos around here, hasn't it? I could barely read a page of my novel until yesterday."

"You have let a book gather dust on your nightstand?" he inquired with teasing awe. "I can hardly imagine!"

Despite herself, Angélique laughed a little with him, but then sighed, deciding to be straightforward. "All right, look… I know you are getting better, and it shows, but I can tell that you are still not… quite there yet." Empathy was imminent in her bright blue eyes. "She is still on your mind."

Lumière fought back an exasperated retort. His impulse was to become defensive, but he knew he shouldn't be upset with her for bringing about the subject again, as tired as he was of it. She was only trying to help. Instead, he was angrier with himself for the fact that her words rang true.

After swallowing his bitter reply, he managed calmly, "I am well aware." He forced himself to look her in the eye. "What would you suggest?"

"Well…" She came to a halt, and Lumière followed her eyes to the polished mahogany door of Cogsworth's study. "He might have something that could give you that little push," she concluded, smiling assuredly. A skeptical glance prompted her to place an encouraging hand on his shoulder. "Trust me; it'll be a pleasant surprise."

"Perhaps you should go before you raise my expectations," he advised with his classic smirk.

Happy to see a glimpse at his old self, Angélique imparted, "You won't be disappointed," before, with a twirl of her periwinkle blue skirt, she was running off to another errand.

Turning to the majordomo's door, Lumière felt himself stumped at what Cogsworth could possibly have to make his situation any easier. It certainly wouldn't be advice. Cogsworth had avoided having any handle on what Lumière had been going through, for multiple reasons.

The majordomo had never liked to involve himself in the private lives of his staff, especially Lumière's. He was a strictly professional man, but he was indeed capable of caring a great deal for others, most notably King Vincent and Queen Beatrice. It was even pointed out by some servants that had witnessed it that he had some affection for the Prince as well. But when it came to romantic relations… No one knew a thing. Did he ever have a love in his life, other than his work? Being as conservative as he was, the very insinuation of a man and a woman together caused the instinct of fleeing to ignite in the head of the household, at least from Lumière's perspective. There was a sincerity in his curiosity of the logic behind Cogsworth's attitude towards romance, but he had never taken enough time to come to any conclusions. Either way, Lumière's "gallivanting" was a topic that Cogsworth obviously hated addressing.

Also, it had been ages since they had quarreled over Lumière's bad habits or Cogsworth's totalitarianism. Frankly, they had hardly spoken since their biggest fight. After the Queen had intervened, and prevented Lumière from saying something he would have ended up regretting, he could only imagine she had spoken for him on his behalf, for there was not another mention of Christmas Eve again.

Never one to hold a grudge, Lumière had let those feelings on the fight go a long time ago, but it still wasn't discernible if Cogsworth had done the same. Hopefully, upon entrance, the air would have been cleared.

Lumière had his knuckles raised to knock, but thought better of it. With a sly smile, he gripped the door frame, turned the brass knob, and swung in on it.

"Bonjour, Cogsworth!" he greeted boisterously.

As was the desired effect, the majordomo did a startled hop in his comfy leather armchair, his elbow knocking the stacks of acknowledgments to flutter and fall to the floor and across his desk. He managed to save those that had almost landed in the melted wax for the seals and the flame heating it with reflexes Lumière had never fathomed he possessed.

As the majordomo was regaining his breath, Lumière enjoyed the stunned, wide-eyed expression on Cogsworth's face for another second before he closed the door behind him. "I was told by _une petite ange_ that you may have something for me."

" _Oh_ …" Cogsworth groaned as he lowered himself into his chair, still in disbelief at the mess around him.

The maître d' gave a sympathetic sigh. Despite Cogsworth's astounding perseverance in his work, he was not immune to exhaustion. "Here, allow me."

The majordomo didn't object, but massaged his forehead while Lumière retrieved the letters from the floor, lining them in his hands like decks of cards. As he placed the last set on the desk, Lumière sat down in the hard-backed chair across from it, flashing Cogsworth a dazzling grin when he finally looked up. He only stared blankly at him, and the maître d' decided to fairly yield, "My apologies, _mon ami_. You know, of course, I meant no harm in it."

With the eye roll Lumière was waiting on, Cogsworth replied sarcastically, "No, of course not. What harm are a few heart palpitations to someone in my position?" Determined to get to business, he reached into his left desk drawer and pulled out a letter. "This arrived in the post this morning."

At a single glance, Lumière recognized the insignia on the wax immediately. Eagerly, he popped the seal and quickly skimmed the familiar handwriting:

_Lumière,_

_I know it was only since your last birthday that you came to La Bazolle for a brief visit, but I must ask you for another, if at all possible. It is of the utmost importance because, if you can believe it, I am engaged._

_We have been courting for the past few months, under the strict supervision of both of our parents. You can imagine what our parlor conversations are like, but when we are alone… She is the most charming girl. Witty, fun, intelligent, well-versed, and beautiful, above all._

_You must come meet her. I am sure you would adore her as much as I have come to, and I would prefer an acquaintance be made between you before the wedding ceremony. Do not worry, a date has not been established, but at the rate of how well things are going, it is bound to be soon._

_Of all the favors I will ask of you, please let this be the one you accept. Heaven knows the debt amounted from the times I lied, charmed, and smuggled on your behalf. I know you have not forgotten._

_Send a reply as soon as you are granted permission to leave, or otherwise._

_I hope to see you soon, my friend._

_All the very best,_

_Nicolas_

_Oh, Nicolas, you are a godsend_ , Lumière mentally thanked. This was just what he needed: to get out of the château for a while and unwind with his oldest friend. Why had he not thought to do it before? Not only was it an ingenious idea, but it was perfect timing. Easter was the last major event of the season, and there was nothing scheduled to occur until the summer.

"Cogsworth," Lumière addressed, finding he had returned to sealing letters as though the maître d' did not exist. "I would like to request leave to visit Nicolas de Créquy for three weeks."

"Done," was the majordomo's immediate reply with not even a hint of a glance in his direction.

"Excellent," Lumière said with a smile as he rose to leave. There were normally questions and reminders involved when he asked permission to visit Nicolas, but he and Cogsworth had gone through this procedure enough where it hardly seemed necessary. Then again, Cogsworth might not even have the patience at this moment.

But at the door, Cogsworth did stop him. "You said 'three weeks'?"

"Oui, if you find no trouble in it," he confirmed casually, half-expecting a problem to arise.

His attention already receding, he assured, "No, only make the proper arrangements with Louis and Mrs. Potts for that duration, nothing you don't already know."

Did Cogsworth finally have a pinch of confidence in Lumière's memory? "Of course," he answered, trying to hide his awe and not comment on the phenomenon. Something was bound to ruin it, so he made sure to ask, "Would there be… anything else?"

"No, that will be all."

_Well, that cannot be right._

If it had been clear their mutual aggravation of each other was all that was causing Cogsworth's ignoring, Lumière would have contently been out of his office minutes ago. But it actually bothered him to not know where the two of them stood.

The majordomo eyed him as Lumière continued to stand in the doorway, brow furrowing. "What are you still doing here?"

Baffled at his own feelings, he responded slowly, "I am asking myself that same question."

"Well, there are much better locations to answer it than in my doorway," Cogsworth recommended, his efforts to keep his chagrin from showing barely obvious. "If you don't mind conducting yourself elsewhere."

But Lumière couldn't move, and hoped he did not regret bringing up the matter. "Cogsworth?"

The majordomo breathed an exhausted sigh, but the usual struggle to maintain his patience with him did not seem to be the cause. "Yes, Lumière?"

The maître d' moved back into the room. Cogsworth's composure was starting to disturb him. "I understand that… we have hardly spoken since… the end of the year." At this, Cogsworth gave him his undivided attention, however emotionless. "But, I would like to believe that particular… disagreement is behind us." When Cogsworth's eyes shifted in contemplation, Lumière prompted, "Is that not the case?"

Appearing to concede to something, Cogsworth gestured to the wooden chair. "Have a seat, Lumière."

Though very hesitant, he followed his order, eyeing Cogsworth with uncertain curiosity.

The head of the household brought his laced fingers to his mouth as he stared at the wood grain of the desk, considering how to begin. "You, of course, recall Her Grace… intervening our… disagreement."

Lumière nodded, and Cogsworth resumed, taking his hands from his chin as his eyes followed them, "Well, after you left the vicinity… she explained to me that… there was, in fact, a proper reason… that is, your intentions were indeed noble when it came to… her."

Even though Cogsworth was avoiding his eye, and his discomfort was evident, Lumière could not help become a bit dumbfounded. Could the majordomo possibly have _concern_ for him?

Cogsworth had taken a brief second to glance at Lumière, because they both knew what he implied by "her." Seeing that this caused no negative effect, he pushed on, "The Queen suggested I be… a little more lenient and impartial to your cause." He finally looked him in the eye. "With more of the benevolence and mercy than is unique to her position, she vouched for you. And I hope to her esteemed credit that it was not in vain."

Though in a daze, this statement caught his attention. "What are you saying? That I—?"

"Tell me honestly," he cut in, his usual authoritative tone returning. "Did you care for her?"

Lumière was startled at the question, more so for the fact that it was coming from Cogsworth. "Did I… yes! More than I can say. Or _should_ say, rather."

Craving more clarification to justify both of their actions, Cogsworth had to ask, "Did you love her?"

Lumière stared back, frozen at his words, the words he had mulled over more times than he could count that only resulted in the same inadequate answer. They felt overused and dull speaking them aloud. "I don't know."

At how Cogsworth pursed his lips, Lumière dropped his eyes. He knew deep down he had not quite deserved the Queen's favor. And Cogsworth had every right to dismiss him permanently from the château for the extremity of his disobedience.

"Lumière."

Resigned to his fate, he faced the majordomo, but to instead find a look of sympathy on his features. "Perhaps that is best," Cogsworth said.

From Cogsworth's knowledgeable gaze, the urge to ask came upon him, but Lumière put it aside. The enigma of Cogsworth's past love would have to remain just that for now.

"I do commend you for the resilience in your work after… everything occurred," Cogsworth resumed. "But I've been observant of you enough to notice it has not been the same, and frankly…" Cogsworth began to feel awkward again. "… it's been… rather disconcerting."

A smile started to grow on Lumière's face. He crossed his arms, his interest piqued. "Really?"

Cogsworth seemed to pout, but gave in, saying, "Yes. To my amazement, I actually… _missed_ your ridiculous enthusiasm. You so often exuded it that without it, it felt… draining to be around you." At Lumière's surprised expression, he inquired, "Didn't anyone inform you of this?"

"No," he replied, shaking his head as he thought back. He had been so absorbed in his thoughts the majority of the time he had hardly given notice to how his staff might be concerned for him. "It seems that… they were afraid to make me aware of it."

"Well, you seem in slightly better spirits since I had seen you last," Cogsworth concluded, silently referring to Lumière's entrance. "I am—" But then he stopped himself, shaking his head at the horrible notion of it almost escaping his lips.

But Lumière was not about to let him off so easily. With a huge grin, he exclaimed, "Admit it, _mon ami_ , you are _happy_ to see me in better spirits! Come now, no need to be ashamed!" Though Cogsworth looked more irritated than anything else as Lumière patted him on the back.

Then an idea came to Lumière, and he mischievously wrapped his arm around Cogsworth's shoulders in a kind of camaraderie, while Cogsworth glared at him with distaste. "This is indeed an extraordinary revelation, Cogsworth. I might shout it from the highest tower so everyone in the château can hear of how you are positively _elated_ that your most esteemed colleague…" Lumière glanced sideways at him and winked. "… is returning to his old tricks and tomfoolery!"

"You wouldn't dare," Cogsworth snapped coolly.

"Oh, you know I would, _mon cher ami_ ," the maître d' assured. "But… because I am touched by your affection for me, I will provide another option." He let go of Cogsworth, who seemed incredibly relieved at his release, and came to stand in front of his desk as he offered, "Your confession will not leave this room on my account if, and only if, you say with your own lips that you are glad to have me back."

"I certainly am not now," the majordomo muttered bitterly.

Flashing another smile, Lumière teasingly added, "Do not be modest! I have the most complete confidence in you!"

Cogsworth continued to silently glare daggers, inciting Lumière to say, "I am sure you would like to return to your business of sealing letters, but when I leave depends on you. It is only a few simple words."

Regretting this entire conversation, Cogsworth heaved a sigh. "Lumière."

"Yes?" he answered, trying his best not to laugh.

Sitting straight in his chair, Cogsworth met Lumière's gaze and said as professionally as was possible of him, "I am… glad to have you back."

Lumière held his hand to his heart, acting deeply moved. "Oh, monsieur! I had no idea the extent of your regard for me! Merci a thousand times over! And to think that the rest of the staff here will never know that you possess a beating heart." He sighed and shook his head as though disappointed. "It truly is a shame, _mon ami_."

As he lacked the energy to provide a decent comeback, Cogsworth realized he would most likely never understand why the maître d' enjoyed teasing him so incessantly, but he decided to shelf it as one of his life's great mysteries, at least for the time being. With forehead in hand, he asked tiredly, "How soon can you leave?"

Allowing his dramatization to fade, Lumière responded pleasantly, "By the day after tomorrow."

"Good." As he returned to sealing his acknowledgements, Lumière went for the door. With a foot out of the study, Cogsworth called once more, "Lumière?"

He glanced back with interest to find Cogsworth baring that all-knowing stare as before.

"Make ample use of it," Cogsworth advised sternly.

Slightly taken aback at this, Lumière nodded. "I plan to."


	2. Clearer Skies

In between his work, Lumière spent the next day preparing the meal plans for the duration of his departure. He had never felt so focused since… well, he couldn't remember when he had been so determined. Not only that, he was anxious for a fresh start. Time with Nicolas would be the perfect cure. Perhaps they could squeeze in a trip to Paris. The future Comte de Drée was still a bachelor, after all. One last weekend steeped in wine and beautiful women wouldn't hurt. In fact, Lumière believed it healthy, purging those indulgences before becoming confined by marriage vows. He was not quite sure how his fiancée would take it, but if she was all Nicolas had said she was, she would understand.

If not, Lumière would be more than happy to explain.

 _Engaged_. Even though his friend had written that it had not officially been announced, it seemed practically inevitable. Of course, Lumière was very glad for him. He sounded in love by just his brief letter, which was more than Lumière could ask for after their most recent venture to _La Fleur Noire_ almost five years before.

However, the slightest feeling of loss and resentment tugged at his gut. He didn't want to think he was losing his partner-in-crime; there was more to their friendship than their antics with myriads of women. It was more of the uncertainty of how this girl would affect their dynamic. After they were tied and bound together in the eyes of God, she would always be there. Would there be another time after this when he and Nicolas could still maintain their confidentiality with each other, brother to brother? Nicolas was the closest to family he had left.

He knew that Nicolas would never abandon him for a girl, even if that girl was his wife. But Lumière at least knew that the obligations of marriage changed a man's priorities. Where would he stand after the church bells had rung?

Lumière shook the thoughts away. This was too deep of thinking when all of that was in the distant future. He had to smile though as he looked forward to how much better he would surely feel after he was back to normal. Never again would he want to be the life-draining presence in any circumstance.

He managed to pack all of the belongings he would need into two saddlebags. It was only about a four hour ride on horseback to La Bazolle, so in normal circumstances, he would sleep in and start his ride around noon. This time, he planned to make it there before lunch.

At around nine o' clock, he was setting his luggage aside before getting ready for bed when a rhythmic knock came from his door.

Upon opening the door, he grinned. "Ah, bonsoir, _mon ange!_ " Having glanced at his mantel clock, he raised an eyebrow reprovingly. "Cutting it a little close, aren't we? Visiting hours are almost over."

Angélique could not resist allowing a little smile to show at his teasing. "Do not worry, I won't be long."

Like a gracious host, he swept his arm to allow her passage. "Then, by all means, grace me with your presence! I would draw up the tea but, being so late, I am afraid it's gone cold!"

She crossed her arms, amazed. He looked practically giddy. "I would wager to guess your meeting with Cogsworth went well?"

Turning from shutting the door, Lumière's face lit up with that definitive twinkle in his eye. "Oh, it went _better_ than 'well'! You would hardly believe what I had learned from our favorite old pocket-watch."

Her eyes widened in feigned disbelief. " _More_ than a summons from Monsieur de Créquy? I cannot even imagine."

"Then you will deign to hear, _ma chère_ mademoiselle," he insisted, inviting her to sit on the end of the bed, facing the blazing hearth. As she sat down, he followed suit, and began by reminding, "You recall the argument Cogsworth and I had, non?"

Her eyes widened. "Ah, oui, who could forget. Did he mention it?" she asked, though her tone was doubtful.

He confirmed the doubts with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Of course not. _I_ was the one who brought it about, as uncomfortable as it was. But—" At this he leaned in conspiratorially. "He spoke the simplest words that I never thought he would ever arrange into order, and not only that, he directed these words to _me_."

Having no clue what he could be building towards, Angélique held a mixture of skepticism and wonder. "What were they?"

"Well, after reading Nicolas' letter, he made a show of congratulating me on my improved state of mind. I took full advantage of that, and managed to coerce this phrase out of him." He held a hand over his heart. "This is in absolute verbatim, I swear by the very scraps of honor I hold dear," Lumière promised with the highest amount of seriousness he could muster. Looking the decorator dead in the eye, he emphasized each syllable with complete clarity. "'I am _glad_ to have you back.'"

Not seeming surprised in the slightest, Angélique rolled her eyes, but a smile was creeping onto her mouth. She knew full well he was exaggerating, though she was aware of Cogsworth's true feelings. "You really are reprehensible."

He shrugged, conceding as he fell back on the bed with hands behind his head, "That was my favorite part of the conversation."

"Clearly," she observed, painting a picture with her hands as she added theatrically, "because in your excitement, you forgot to create this _tapestry_ of drama and suspense that always accompanies your storytelling." With a smirk of her own, she bantered, "I think you're slipping, _chéri_."

"Oh, _Dieu_ help me if I have not slipped to the bottom of the slope already," he remarked.

Taking a moment to ponder on that, she shook her head. "Quite the contrary; I believe you are on your way back up." She glanced at his bags. "You leave tomorrow?"

"Oui, bright and early." He stood up and walked to stare out of the window as he continued, attempting to sound nonchalant, "And hopefully by the time I return… I will be back to normal." He tried to prevent the words from pouring out, but if he had to be honest, that was the main reason he was looking forward to his time at La Bazolle. Though Angélique couldn't see it clearly, his expression had sobered.

She remained seated, sighing. She had told him before that it was okay to miss Babette, and that it would not hinder him from overcoming his love for her. The same went for how his efforts to forget about her completely would not hasten the process. There were only so many ways to say them, and frankly, it was best she no longer endeavored to add her wisdom when Babette came up in conversation.

Looking out at the night, and actually _seeing_ it instead of using it as a backdrop to his abounding thoughts, Lumière saw the stars for the first time in days. The clouds and rain that had plagued the skies had finally vanished to let pinpoints of light shine through the darkness. He could not allow the clouds to brew over him any longer. In fact, he was confident that after these next three weeks, blue skies would be the only thing in his sight from then on.

With a deep breath, he turned to see Angélique watching him warily. He quietly hummed a laugh as he approached her to give a reassuring smile. "There is no need for you to look at me that way anymore. I will be fine."

Again, she arched a dubious eyebrow as she stood. "Are you sure?"

"More than sure."

She pursed her lips in consideration, but then appeared comforted as she smiled. " _Bien_. I will take your word for it." Seeing the time, she imparted facetiously, "It seems I have overstayed my welcome. _I_ shall not be the reason you do not leave before breakfast."

Following her eyes, he adopted her tone as he led her to the door. "Ah, oui, mademoiselle! A quarter past nine? What will dear Cogsworth say at your lack of awareness?"

Spinning with a referring hand as if to say, _Moi?_ she replied, "To the favorite of his staff? Simple. I only need to mention your name and the problem solves itself."

As he held the door open for her, he tried to appear disapproving but a one-sided smirk found its way to his lips. "You have far too much faith in his intolerance for me."

"Nonsense. I believe he will remain as fixed as the country he presides from."

"If by 'fixed', you mean 'stubborn', then that _is_ something to fear," he replied with a foreboding nod.

Angélique laughed quietly. "Good night, Lumière." But as she went to leave, a sudden thought came to her. Looking to the carpet hesitantly for a brief second, she offered, "If… anything happens, remember that you can write to me." She then shrugged indifferently. "If you need a woman's touch, that is."

"Oh, I plan to get a woman's touch in other ways," he suggested with a sly grin, but added sincerely, "But I will think of you if I cannot find comfort anywhere else."

"Let us hope you don't need it."

"Agreed," he prayed.

"Bon voyage, _cher_ , and bonne chance."

He inclined his head gratefully. "Merci, Angélique. Bonne nuit..." As she began her way back to her quarters, he called to her playfully, "… _la petite ange sur mon épaule_."

"Oh, shut up," she snapped as he chuckled at her, but he knew she was grinning despite herself.

* * *

It was impossible to count how many times Lumière had cursed the location of his room in the morning, the only reason being the sun always found its way to shine its beams directly on him through the smallest break in his curtains. Sleep had always been one of the major needs of living he had most prized, and in more recent times, he found it much too easy to indulge in its bliss and comfort. But this day, he had an all too different attitude. It was a day that would hopefully be the beginning of his heartbreak's end.

The sun was most welcome as Lumière climbed out of bed at the crack of dawn to prepare for his journey to La Bazolle. Despite the now clear skies, the ground was still damp from the recent rainstorms that had blown through the countryside, so he equipped himself with his boots and heavy traveling cloak should another storm happen to surprise him. With his luck of late, he could not be too careful.

A brawny mare could carry the weight of his luggage, and with the help of a stable hand, the maître d' had one saddled and dressed for the morning ride. He was walking the horse to the front of the château as a portly, middle-aged woman approached him with a cloth tied into a small sack in her hands, a gentle yet assured smile on her face. Lumière grinned and shook his head, having a very good idea what the sack contained.

"I had hoped to catch you on your way out," Mrs. Potts explained, intentionally making no notice of his light chastisement. "You couldn't very well leave without some snacks to tide you over on the road."

"I had thought with an early departure, I would finally be able to prevent you from spoiling me with your treats! I shudder to think you slave in the kitchen after the rest of us have finished dinner."

Becoming peeved, though very mildly, she ensured, "Oh, posh, Lumière, I'm a woman with hobbies, and one of them happens to be baking for those who need a little something sweet. And you of all people deserve a little extra," she added with meaning.

He received the small bag with grace, despite his attempt at modesty, which always failed when confronted with the generosity of the castle's housekeeper. Exaggerating the weight of the sweets, he panted, "Perhaps, but I will not be able to consume it all without help!"

"What about Monsieur de Créquy?"

"He already had an infatuation with your cooking the last time I shared it, and this time he might be convinced to come steal you away as his own personal chef."

Grinning at the compliment, Mrs. Potts assured, "I'm willing to take that risk for a good friend of yours."

He put all joking aside to say, "You really are too kind, madame, to think that I am worth this much trouble."

"It was no trouble at all, Lumière."

"Are you certain you're content with running the kitchen while I am gone? I could always ask Louis to take over—"

"Don't worry another minute about it. I am all too happy to take over for you while you're gone. Your job now is to relax and enjoy yourself however you can. And remember…" She brought up her hand under his chin. "… you're going to be just fine."

Lumière's heart felt as full as it could feel at that time. Mrs. Potts was undoubtedly the closest to a mother since his own had passed away when he was only a boy. Not only did he hold her in that respect, but she had made it mutual with her kindness, open heart, and selflessness towards him. Though it was rare, she even knew how to discipline him, and it never took more than a look and a word for him to recognize his poor choice in action. He realized it was in her nature. She had an uncanny ability to see a need and fill it with merely her time and effort.

Cradling the treats in one arm, Lumière took her hand and kissed it reverently. "I shall inform the Church to consider you for a sainthood, madame."

Mrs. Potts chuckled. "You can try, bless your heart, but I doubt I'm what the Church has in mind."

Straightening, he reasoned with a smirk, "With me speaking on your behalf, they would soon be demanding to name you a saint."

She shook her head teasingly at the image. "What a sight it would be, you trying to charm the Church!"

"Charm would only be part of it. You make quite a convincing case on your own, _ma chère_ Madame Potts," he vouched sincerely.

As he gently packed the sweets into one of his luggage and stepped onto his horse, Lumière glanced back at the housekeeper now at his feet. Recalling from memory the long, revealing, and uplifting private discussions they had undergone recently, his voice was soft and vulnerable as he imparted, "Again, thank you for all you've done."

Visibly touched, Mrs. Potts gripped his hand on the bridle and gave it a squeeze. "You're more than welcome, child." With a pat on the horse, she gave it room to tread on while she waved. "Happy travels! Mind any rivers and streams, they're bound to have flooded!"

"I was just having the same thoughts!" he called behind him in jest, laughing as she set her arms akimbo in mock disapproval.

"And have fun!" she replied, turning it into a command.

"By your order alone!" At that point, he was crossing the bridge over the ravine and cantering out the open wrought iron gate.

* * *

The rhythmic clopping of hooves accompanied by the tweeting of birds and rustling of the forest's leaves made for an all-too-soothing symphony as the sun quickly began its voyage across the sky. The various shades of green that canopied the path combined with nature's sounds were an ideal combination for Lumière to daydream to. The air remained brisk and clean, but even with the sun's rays, it was still cool enough where his heavy cloak was necessary.

Once out of the forest, he rode past the same lonely, abandoned cottage through the little town of Molyneaux, which had just begun its morning routine. The main street was heavily populated by the villagers running their errands, but they hardly paid him any mind. They maintained their foci on their destinations and simply went around his horse, parting like the sea does for a ship's bow.

Amidst all of the earthy tones of the town's denizens, a spark of red caught Lumière's eye. In front of the tavern were two boys, who couldn't be older than ten years of age. The tall black-haired boy in a red tunic had a bow and arrow in his hands, while his shorter and stumpier friend was balancing an apple on his head. It wobbled from the shaking in his stocky legs.

"Come on, LeFou, hold still!" the black-haired pre-teen demanded in a rather deep voice for a boy so young.

Timidly, his short friend squeaked, "But—But shouldn't we practice somewhere… less full of people? We could hurt someone!"

" _No_ one shoots better than Gaston!" With that announcement, the boy dressed in red shot his arrow right through the apple's core into the barrel behind his friend. Its juice started to drip down the wood.

Even though he had ducked as the arrow was released, the boy named LeFou jumped in jubilation, any fear dissolving in his huge, toothy grin. "You did it! That was amazing, Gaston, you were right!"

The black-haired boy's eyes lit up at his accomplishment and his friend's praise, but he soon hid his excitement, bragging, "Of course I was! You heard what I said!"

"Let's do it again!" And in a strange kind of camaraderie, the young archer brought his meek friend in a playful chokehold, laughing all the while.

Lumière shook his head, smirking at the unlikely friendship, and jolted the reins, spurring himself past the provincial village.

Vast fields of wheat and produce replaced the shops and apartments of Molyneaux for the next mile. Perched on the mare, Lumière could watch the breezes create rippling waves through the grain as he dug into Mrs. Potts' gift of dried cakes and macaroons.

While delved in another ocean of pines and maples, the sun began to be blotted out by clouds. The wind was picking up and blew more pinecones, leaves, and maple seeds onto the road.

Lumière kicked his steed's sides, sensing the impending rain, and ducked his head against the wind as he galloped through the woods.

The skies were grey as he approached La Clayette, but La Bazolle was on the outskirts of town. He was very keen on avoiding the storm, however severe, and swiftly made his way through its paved streets.

He thought to bypass it, but he convinced himself it was less convenient to try another route out of the town. His gut twisted in anticipation as he approached the recognizable stone walls surrounding the property of the Chantemerle manor.

When he became level with its iron gate, he glimpsed the lawn and drive that stretched to the château's fine and respectable façade.

Lumière hadn't given much mind to it before, only that it held one of the province's most esteemed families, but the manor's significance had changed so drastically since his last visit. His curiosity of what the walls enclosed held far after it was no longer in his sights, but why? Had he been hoping to spot Babette taking a stroll through the gardens, or some other ridiculous notion?

He quickly put that to rest. Sure, she had been somewhat of a catalyst to this journey, if to only overcome his residual feelings and sense of loss, but this trip had nothing to do with her. He looked ahead once more to what laid ahead and put the manor behind him for the better.

A light drizzle began to fall as La Bazolle could be seen from a distance. Assuming this was nature's way of punishing him for his snooping, he gritted his teeth and spurred the mare back into a gallop.

La Bazolle's grounds were open, not being confined to the city's limits, but no less manicured and taken care off than any other mansion. The château itself was visible before the gate was, though the rain was starting to fall heavily. As he approached it, he familiarly took a right turn toward the stables.

Lumière pulled the reins to a stop as the stable boy ducked into the rain to greet him.

"Ah, bonjour, Monsieur Lumière!" the teen exclaimed, blinking into the rain to look up at the maître d'.

"Romain!" he addressed in surprise. "Why are you working in this weather?"

"I promised to keep look-out." The sandy-haired teenager shrugged. "My master has been expecting you to arrive with or without any word ahead."

"What a disappointment!" Lumière lamented, stepping off of his horse as the stable boy held the bridle. "After all these years, I thought this was my best chance in surprising him."

Romain returned a genuine smile. "It is good to see you again, monsieur."

Lumière patted his shoulder. "Merci, my boy. You as well!"

As the young man took the mare to be stabled, the maître d' gripped his hat and made his way through the stables to the front gardens. He tried to avert from the downpour as much as possible, skimming the edge of the stables to stay under its roof before striding through the flowering parterres to one of the three front doors underneath a second-floor balcony. After swinging a knocker a few times, he assessed the rain's damage and found his cloak and boots had taken the brunt of it. Only his hair and part of his trousers seemed to have been sprinkled on. As he was silently congratulating himself for his proper preparation against the elements, the door opened to have the future count himself answer it.

"Arriving before lunch?" Nicolas admired with awe, jesting, "Were you finally able to witness the sun's rising?"

"After glancing at my crystal ball and tea dregs," Lumière explained factually, "I knew I had to sacrifice my late-night antics to beat the storm, so here I am, at your beck and call," he added with a gallant bow.

Lumière laughed as Nicolas scowled. His friend had always despised any humility that those of lower rank showed him. He had never thought he was above anyone in his life, and it truly had torn at his conscience when he had come to terms with that simple fact of society. He only had accepted it when his family convinced him that it was merely a sign of respect to call them "master" and "mistress" and serve the family through cooking and cleaning. And this was all when Lumière had first become Nicolas' valet.

Nicolas had always treated Lumière as an equal, as any friend would, despite their respective social rankings, and insisted the maître d' never bow to him and only refer to him by his first name. That didn't stop Lumière from bowing and calling him "master" just to tease him.

Wearing that aggravating smirk of his, the maître d' gave a pouting Nicolas a friendly pat on his back as he crossed the threshold. "Come on, old friend, you must have missed me to send so urgent a letter! Do you expect any less of me?"

"You mean 'any more?'" Nicolas corrected. "You taught me not to raise my expectations for you long ago, yet I somehow like to fancy the idea of le Château du Lac actually teaching you some manners!"

Lumière shrugged as he took off his cloak. "Like you, they realized quickly that I am a long-lost cause."

"And yet, despite that, my mother loves to ask when you plan to return for another visit." Nicolas rolled his eyes. "I think she merely misses your entertaining side comments you used to whisper in her ear during tedious parlor prattling."

Laughing at the memories, Lumière admonished, "We both know you are jealous of what your dear mother and I have, Nicolas. Your attempts to dismiss it are only getting feebler." As Nicolas shook his head at Lumière's ridiculous remarks, though smiling all the while, Lumière sincerely asked, "Where are your parents? Entertaining the masses?"

Nicolas shrugged with a nod as if to pose rhetorically, _What can you do?_ "They are in town for the afternoon, but they should be back for dinner. You can renew your enchantment on them then."

"As though you believe it is that easy!"

"I have seen you do it for years! You have a natural talent with people, which I truly do envy you for."

"You do not give yourself enough credit, _mon ami_. Contrary to me, you appear quiet, reserved, and thoughtful. My outgoing and arguably boisterous self can bring people in, but qualities like yours are what make them stay, especially women. Speaking of which…" Lumière gave him a suggestive grin. "… you have not brought out your betrothed. I would like to see for myself if the magnificent creature you wrote about matches your description."

Uncharacteristically, Nicolas became bashful. He glanced at the ground with a secretive smile on his lips. "My words could never do her justice," he professed. "She will meet us in the drawing room in a minute. She is a little, well, shy at the thought of meeting you."

"What did you tell her?"

At Lumière's expression of a disapproving father, Nicolas grimaced. "I'm afraid I may have spoken too heavily of our… excursions. And when it came to you… I think I unwittingly gave her a bad impression."

"Nice going."

"Trust me, I made sure to overcompensate," Nicolas assured. "I would not have sent out that letter if she hadn't been open to meeting you."

Lumière had to shake his head. "I do not think even Cogsworth is capable of making me sound as unappealing as you must have made me seem, though I am sure he has tried! And here, when I speak of you, she had nothing but praise."

Nicolas raised a questioning eyebrow. "'She?'"

Mentally kicking himself for the slip, Lumière sighed. "Now _that_ , my friend, is a story for another time, when we are not expecting company."

Hardly recognizing what he saw, Nicolas murmured, " _Non_ , impossible. You did not…?" But a single glance from his friend was all the confirmation he needed. The future count patted him on the back. "I won't press you on it now. Come, I'll get you a drink."

Before Nicolas could lead him off the foyer, Lumière happened to look to the top of the staircase, where the balcony became a hallway, as a pair of blue eyes and the skirt of a plum satin gown spun out of sight.

This fiancée was shy indeed.

Hesitating for only a brief moment to see if she would appear, he resigned to follow his friend into the drawing room.


	3. The New Norm

Had it already been three months since meeting the vicomte? Babette could hardly believe it.

It seemed like only the day before when she had been cleaning floors, dusting corridors, and polishing marble and brass. In the first few weeks of her arrival home, she had still sometimes woken up at the slightest crack of dawn, much to her disgruntlement. Out of all her old habits, how had her pleasant nine-in-the-morning wake-up call been a hassle to return to?

Unfortunately, that hadn't been the most difficult of problems for her to overcome. Leaving le Château du Lac and all the residents who dwelled in it behind had been the hardest trial she had ever endured. Her heart had not only broken once, but as many more times as for the people she had grown closest to: Angélique, Mrs. Potts, and even by some degree, Cogsworth. But the first who had caused her heart to cleave in two…

It had been hard enough trying to hide her heartbreak from her parents, but they had seemed to accept she was going to miss being a part of the château's tight-knit community. Thankfully, Babette had not to meet the vicomte, her arranged fiancé, for a week or so after Christmas, and in that time, she had taken to becoming thoroughly absorbed in her responsibilities as a future countess and single heir of the Chantemerle family.

Back were the tight corseted gowns of fine silks and fabrics, the dressing and pampering by her handmaiden, and the false smiles and silently judging countenances of fellow aristocrats. Her bitter feelings toward all that came with being of noble birth had not changed since her stay at the province's château, but she had found a higher level of tolerance in herself to withstand what she had so despised before.

Upon meeting the vicomte, she had found more reason to broaden her acceptance and understanding of the life she had to lead.

After a few short months, she found herself healed. She basked and blossomed in the vicomte's adoring gaze, and the feelings she felt for him were different than anything she had felt before. Perhaps it was love, but of another kind.

Pausing at the top of the staircase, Babette allowed the images of her fiancé to keep her mind at ease. She felt as though she were descending toward a lions' den.

Her corset made it impossible for her to slouch, and as seemed to be its ultimate purpose, caused her breath to catch, but she knew that what awaited her had assisted with that on its own. She stood outside the salon doors, wishing she could run back up to her room where she could remain safe for a little while longer, but she knew this meeting was inevitable, and always would be.

Another thought came to her, but she shook her head at it. She had checked herself in the mirror already, and though she hated the idea of presenting herself in her class' distinguishing style of garb, she was not ashamed of it. Her clothes did not define her.

Taking as deep of a breath as she could muster, Babette stepped into _le petit salon_.

Immediately, the vicomte stood up as she entered, his hazel eyes alighting and his boyish mouth turning into a grin at the sight of her. His navy coat fit around his broad shoulders and athletic build marvelously. Since he never wore a customary wig in his own home, his dark brown hair was visible, slicked back and cropped to the base of his skull. Babette felt her heart flutter.

But it staggered in beat from the other man in the room. His slender back was to her, but she bid herself to look to him before he saw her. As he eagerly turned to face her, a look of pure shock and horror as though he was watching the dead arise crossed his features. This ended up satisfying her more than she could have ever guessed, and she smiled without hesitation.

Her beloved approached to take her hands in his before presenting her. "Lumière," he introduced fondly. "My fiancée, Babette de Chantemerle."

* * *

Lumière seemed to recall feeling this way before. The moment he had first seen Babette had wowed him in every sense of the word. Actually, no, this wasn't the same at all. He was sure his awe hadn't been founded in fear.

He had erased his expression of dread before Nicolas could shift his gaze from the vision of her, his eyes holding a look that Lumière was all too familiar with. His friend was shoulder-deep in love, not a doubt of it.

And clearly knew nothing about his and Babette's history.

With a smile that could fake sincerity a little too well, Lumière came around the chaise to greet her properly. "I had wondered why Nicolas had made such a feeble attempt to describe your beauty in his letter, but now I see that words would have been inadequate." He kissed her hand, ignoring its familiarity. "A pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, mademoiselle."

His smile seemed mocking to her, and she tried not to shudder at his touch, whatever the emotion that incited it. Babette respectfully curtsied to the maître d'. "The pleasure is all mine, monsieur. Nicolas spared no words about you."

"So I've been told," Lumière replied, eyeing the vicomte in a way that he hoped was teasing.

Nicolas rolled his eyes, though his blush gave way to his embarrassment. "Babette, did I not praise the merit of Lumière's character to you on numerous occasions?"

"Oui, so much that it was almost difficult to believe," she remarked, giving the maître d' a sharp passing glance. Lumière had to do all he could not to glare at her.

"Thank you," Nicolas said to Babette before he raised his eyebrows at Lumière as though daring him to say more on the subject.

Lumière crossed his arms, his gaze lingering on the viscountess. "If that is true… I hope to at least meet your expectations."

"We shall see then, monsieur," Babette replied simply, though her icy blue eyes were piercing.

Lumière couldn't help but recall at how familiar her eyes appeared in that moment. Not because he had admired them for whom they belonged, but because they looked all too similar to when she had been bent on hating him, like after their very first introduction.

He almost wanted to laugh at the irony.

Their stare seemed to last longer than it really did, but it was broken when Nicolas guided Babette to the seat on the chaise next to him. Lumière followed suit, making sure to grab his wine before replacing himself in an armchair across from them.

He wished he could drain his glass without Nicolas noticing, but he had to fight his craving for however long these "introductions" would last.

While slowly sipping his wine and wishing for something stronger, Lumière watched her as she watched him. She looked on coolly, and to avoid her expression of indifference, he took notice of the rest of her.

She sat with back erect, shoulders back, and ankles crossed under her long skirt in perfect aristocratic style, mimicking any other woman of noble birth. The plum gown she wore was of rich fabric that shined a dull luster. The side hoops of her dress, though not so wide, exaggerated her tiny waist, though it was clear her chest was constricted by her corset, especially with how he knew so well what her natural figure looked like.

Perhaps it was because this was far from what he was used to, but Lumière couldn't help but think that she looked nothing like herself.

Then he noticed Nicolas slightly nodding sideways towards Babette, signaling that he should be the one to begin the conversation.

Lumière swallowed his sigh with irritation. He was far from the right state-of-mind to learn more about how Babette came to court his best friend.

Taking a deep breath, he put on a face that he hoped looked interested. "So… I am curious to hear the tale of how this… betrothal began." With a little spite that only Babette would be able to read, he targeted her. "Mademoiselle?"

It was subtle, but she puckered her lips enough for him to see she had picked up on his slight.

As she opened her mouth to respond, however, Nicolas replied, "Her parents had asked for an audience with us at the end of November to propose an arrangement between our houses. They vouched highly for her character, and I agreed to meet her after she was no longer indisposed."

"'Indisposed?'" Lumière jumped on the word with a show of mounting curiosity.

Nicolas appeared to regret Lumière's interest, and exchanged a glance with Babette. Right as a look of understanding passed between them, Lumière felt his blood begin to boil, but it was not without the accompaniment of jealousy's upward thrust through his gut.

Leaning on the arm of his chair, he tried to hide his scowl behind a thoughtful hand before they both turned to him again.

"From October to December," Babette explained, not quite meeting Lumière's eyes, "I was serving… in a convent."

The maître d's brow immediately shot up at this blatant lie, but realized, _Ah, so_ that _is what she has said to keep Nicolas ignorant._ He couldn't deny feeling a bit of relief from having to explain himself to his friend, but the fact that she was maintaining this falsehood for Nicolas' sake… He certainly did not like it.

"A convent, you say!" Lumière repeated with a faint smirk, genuinely intrigued.

Babette aimed her stare, daring him to object her words. But that was quite far from his intention.

As she had taken pleasure with his shock at realizing she was Nicolas' betrothed, so would he on witnessing her convulse a lie to the one who knew the truth, as well as in front of the one she kept oblivious.

"Surely you intend to say more!" Lumière prompted amicably. "Please, tell me, what was that like? I imagine the difference is… insurmountable to the life of a well-endowed vicomtesse such as yourself."

With a small glance at Nicolas, Lumière could see him give a look of warning. The maître d' could admit perhaps "well-endowed" had been too suggestive of a description, despite the truth it held in both respects. But he was enjoying Babette's ill-concealed indignation too much to feel any shame.

"I do not wish to disappoint you," Babette worded carefully, her expression countering her statement, "but there really is not much to tell."

Rather determined in his pursuits, Lumière raised an eyebrow and replied, "Perhaps that is true, but for the sake of conversation, why not say what little there is to tell?"

Looking cunningly resigned, she answered, "It… mostly consisted of… playing a maid."

Lumière couldn't help but furrow his brow at this. How could she claim that and get away with it?

Before Lumière could reply, and noting his suspicion, Nicolas added, "What she means is, because she was among the youngest living there, and not having taken any holy vows, she helped keep the convent clean."

"I see…" the maître d' admitted, keeping his bitterness under the surface. He watched Babette cock a slender eyebrow that clearly read, _Your move._

 _The clever minx_ , he had to admire. She had covered all of her tracks well.

But what about her romantic affairs—prior to himself? Lumière had the full account of her escapades, a numerous amount of them scandalous for someone of _questionable_ morals. It was one thing for Babette to be keeping the truth from Nicolas about her relationship with Lumière, but it was another thing for her to withhold the entirety of her dalliances. Nicolas might as well not know Babette at all. With the way the viscount looked at her, he _can't_ have been told… right?

Then again, Nicolas was that understanding and open-minded of a person. There was a possibility he knew about all of her personal accounts—outside of the rumors—and saw past them for her sake. Lord knew he at least tolerated it based on his choice of friends.

Lumière had to try coercing this information out of him as soon as they were alone.

Nicolas cleared his throat awkwardly after a moment of silence. "So, Lumière, how is everything at le Château du Lac? Anything of interest?"

Lumière shrugged. "The holidays are hectic, visiting royalty comes and goes, and Cogsworth still believes I carry a secret agenda against him, so quite normal, unfortunately."

Babette archly smiled. "Who is this 'Cogsworth?'"

A bit chagrined she caught that attempt so smoothly, Lumière nonchalantly explained, "He is our majordomo: tedious, demanding, and _very_ English," he added tiredly with an eye roll.

Though she quickly averted her eyes as theirs met, Babette sincerely grinned, like it was an inside joke. He almost became too distracted by this to hear a humored Nicolas inquire, "It has been over four years, and _still_ you haven't found any common ground?"

Recovering swiftly, Lumière admonished jokingly, "You really expect too much, _mon ami_ , of _both_ of us." When he thought back, he mentioned, "Although I have recently discovered that the old pocket watch might actually have dabbled in a bit of romance long before I met him. But heaven knows when I will ever hear a syllable of it."

"That _is_ interesting," Nicolas admitted as Babette allowed some of her curiosity to show through. "Especially since… it seems hard to believe."

"My thoughts exactly," Lumière agreed with a chuckle.

"Why would it be hard to believe?" she inquired, expressing her intrigue.

It irked Lumière to a certain extent that he would have to explain who Cogsworth was to someone who knew the majordomo better than Nicolas, but he found his confusion from the sincerity of her question stifled the irritation that arose. _Why would she even ask if not to play her part believably?_

"Well…" he began hesitantly as his mind tripped over her possible reasons. "Let us merely say he is not the romantic type."

"He is married to his work, as we've come to call it," Nicolas elaborated.

"Precisely," Lumière approved with small smirk.

"Is there anything necessarily _wrong_ about being 'married' to your work?" Babette probed thoughtfully.

A little wave of nostalgia caught Lumière off-guard. _As inquisitive as ever_ , he couldn't help but note.

He blinked the thoughts away to focus on the present. "Non, of course not. But… your question makes me believe you have your own opinion on the subject."

She pursed her scarlet lips, clearly thinking she should have seen that coming. After a glance at Nicolas, who was also waiting for her reply with a sly smile, she rolled her eyes at them. "The point of a question is for it to be answered, not reversed on its inquirer."

"True, _ma chère,_ " Nicolas conceded, "but what is the harm in enlightening us with your own thoughts… for the sake of conversation?"

He exchanged a mischievous glance with Lumière, who had to laugh. As small as it was, Nicolas was not only taking the open opportunity to tease her, but was allying with him to do it.

The potential in Lumière's stay had suddenly become much more interesting.

From the way Babette eyed both of them in turn, it would seem she saw the potential as well, and didn't like it.

" _D'accord_ ," she muttered brusquely. "I only ask because I do not think there is anything to condemn if one chooses to stay committed to their profession rather than marrying. I find it something to be admired, in fact."

Nicolas changed his tone to assure, "Babette, we do not condemn Cogsworth for never marrying—"

"Now or in the foreseeable future," Lumière annexed.

"Right," the viscount acknowledged. "But it's the… dedication he has to his job that is rather unique."

"Not to mention he has held me in contempt since the day I was hired," Lumière said more to Nicolas than to Babette.

She set her eyes on the maître d'. "Might there be a reason for him to dislike you so?"

"I imagine there must be," Lumière replied smoothly, "but his reasons seem to change depending on his mood." _Is this a way of keeping up her own play at ignorance, or to test me?_

"They are both just… very different people," Nicolas clarified to her. "Well, polar opposites, more like. I've only had the pleasure of watching them interact once, and I was not even supposed to be in earshot."

As Nicolas smiled, Lumière laughed at the memory. "Ah, oui, he would have wrung my neck if he had known you were hiding in my wardrobe!" As an afterthought, he added devilishly, "However, his mortification _would_ make it worth mentioning…"

"Would he even remember? I would think for all of the lectures he's given you, there would be a point where they blur together."

"Believe me, if I reminded him of the time and place, he would certainly remember. The man has a mind like a steel trap. But, mademoiselle," Lumière began, eager to return the attention to Babette, "I want to address your thoughts, if we may."

Her icy eyes filled with suspicion, but her voice remained cordial as always. "And what about them, monsieur, has captured your interest?"

"When you said that never marrying for the sake of a career was something to admire…"

"I meant that kind of commitment and resilience against other temptations was admirable," she elaborated without missing a beat. "It is very difficult to not stray."

In the most casual manner, Lumière inquired, "Would you happen to have experienced that difficulty firsthand?"

Nicolas shot him another glance to reel it in, but Babette was unphased. "Of course. As much as anyone."

Though this wasn't an unexpected reaction from her, Lumière was surprised to hear her be so nonchalantly candid in front of her fiancé and a "newly-met" acquaintance. Still, he couldn't prevent a ghost of a smile from appearing on his lips.

Lumière didn't seem to be the only one stunned; Nicolas stared wide-eyed at Babette for a fleeting moment before composing himself and noting his friend's expression. "I suppose I should have mentioned in my letter your perfect honesty," he said wryly to the viscountess.

"I will assure you, I _much_ prefer you hadn't," she replied lightly, watching Lumière with amusement.

The maître d' then blinked his surprise away and leaned back into his chair. "I would agree that normally such a virtue would have called for some warning, at least for those with less of an open mind."

"Yet that is precisely why I wanted to introduce you to each other," Nicolas explained with a smile, his eyes alighting with excitement. "I can already tell these next weeks will be interesting to say the least."

 _You took the words out of my mouth,_ Lumière answered silently.

Three knocks were heard on the door, and Renaud opened it to announce the early return of Nicolas' parents and that lunch was to be served in the next few minutes, but this was barely registered properly as Lumière tried to eye Babette long enough to make her meet his gaze. It seemed their fate that their determination always be matched, but at opposition. She refused to look at him, but turned her head to Nicolas.

In just the acceptance of his arm, both had eyes only for each other. As though time had slowed for Lumière's benefit, he could clearly take notice of the adoration in Nicolas' gaze and the admiration in Babette's. Acutely aware of his invisibility, Lumière felt again the plunge of jealousy's knife into his gut, but as he stood, it seemed the knife had left a bleeding wound.

Ever dutifully, a stone-faced Lumière followed the betrothed pair to the foyer.


	4. Over Luncheon

As much as Lumière wanted to give into his frustrations, he couldn't let the sight of the woman he adored on the arm of his best friend get to him so easily. He had to develop a much thicker skin in the matter of a minute before he had to greet Nicolas' parents. Was it improbable? Yes. But never impossible.

He took a deep, lung-filling breath and looked eagerly beyond the couple walking in front of him to see the Comte and Comtesse de Drée handing their cloaks off to Renaud.

The countess, Augustine, lit up with delight at the sight of them. "Ah, Babette! So lovely to see you again, _ma chère_." She took Babette's hand and kissed her cheek.

"Same to you, madame," Babette replied with a charming smile.

To Nicolas, Augustine gave his cheek a peck and simply but lovingly greeted, "Hello, darling."

"Maman," he acknowledged similarly. " _You_ are home early."

His mother waved her hand dismissively. "There was a miscommunication with the Jacoblliot. It seems they forgot to send us a messenger to reschedule our meeting."

As she noticed Lumière, he saw Babette curtsey politely to the count, Étienne, but Augustine approached him, blocking her from his view.

"Jean-Luc Lumière," she addressed with an amused shake of her head before bringing him in to kiss both cheeks. "It always seems like an age before you deem to grace us with your charm and wit. How are you?"

Cuing his famous, debonair smile, he answered smoothly, "Much better after hearing I am still in your good graces, _ma belle-dame_."

"I heard that!" Étienne called, stepping away from the couple to approach, appearing chastising. "The fountain of flattery is still ever-flowing, I see."

Having grown much accustomed to the count's dry sense of humor, Lumière nonchalantly offered his hands in surrender. "I am afraid so. But if you wish, I can always be sure to make you an exception."

Étienne shook his finger at him like he wanted to cleverly retort, but let out a defeated sigh before offering his hand for Lumière to shake. "I almost forgot how good you are with the back-handed compliment."

"An easy mistake for one your age," the maître d' assured.

Gripping his hand a little more tightly, Étienne eyed him in warning while Lumière smirked. "Don't push it," he muttered before giving him a slap on the shoulder disguised as a fatherly pat.

Lumière made sure not to wince or he wouldn't hear the end of it from the count, and most likely his son. He glanced over to see Babette rejoin her arm with Nicolas', both of them still too enraptured with each other for Lumière's liking.

At the same time, Augustine said, "Let's proceed to the dining room, shall we? Unless I am the only one who has been craving a luncheon this past hour. Although," she said to Lumière as she walked with him down the hall behind the rest, "you must be famished most of all from your trek here. You've arrived so early! Did you even allow yourself breakfast?"

He allowed her to take his arm as he smiled at her concern. " _Mais oui,_ madame, though you are not far from truth. Rest assured, I managed to keep myself sated along the way."

With a hint of doubt, she checked with surprise, "Thinking ahead this morning, were we?"

Lumière chuckled. "Not quite. It was a gift from our housekeeper. I believe I've told you of her generosity before."

Augustine's eyes lit up. "Oh! Yes, you have. The Englishwoman, correct? Mrs.…"

"Potts."

"Oui, of course, confound my memory," she self-chastised quietly. "Well, I'm always glad to hear there are others looking out for your well-being. Heaven knows what kind of trouble you'd get yourself into otherwise!"

"I am sure you know as much, if not more, than heaven would of _that_ ," he pointed out with a smirk.

The countess had to laugh. "Perhaps all too well!" she agreed.

The table was already set with potato bisque waiting to be eaten. Lumière led Mme. de Créquy to her seat at one of the heads of it, sliding her chair out for her like a gentleman.

Charmed, Augustine smiled at him. "Merci, _cher_."

As he pushed her chair in as she sat, Nicolas cocked an eyebrow and wry grin at him, clearly referring to the "spell" Lumière was able to cast on his parents. His friend replied with a cavalier shrug.

Nicolas performed the same courtesy for Babette while Étienne was seated at the other end of the table, his humored expression showing he had noticed their silent exchange.

Before Lumière could take a seat opposite Nicolas, Augustine gestured pleasantly to Lumière to sit at her right, directly across from where Babette was already seated.

The two made eye contact, and Lumière felt his gut clench. With lips tightened, she looked to the small floral arrangements on the table instead.

He took a discreet breath to calm himself, hoping his discomfort wasn't obvious, and sat to the countess' right.

While a servant on standby—Thibault, if Lumière's memory served—returned the spare bowl of soup to the kitchen, Augustine took note of the weather outside their windows as the rest started on their meals. "Oh, these dreadful showers have almost succeeded in dampening my humours completely. I had thought we had seen the last of rain for a good while! I hope you made it here in time before this one had begun," she said to Lumière.

"Only in the nick of time, madame," he soothed.

She huffed a laugh. "If only _we_ had been so lucky!"

Étienne straightened to pause from eating. "Ah, yes, between the Godard's, the coach, and here, we may have spent the whole of twenty seconds to the rain's exposure. How very unlucky indeed."

" _Père_ , you are too cruel," Nicolas lightly admonished.

But Augustine was unphased. "Don't worry, my dear. He said similarly in the coach."

"And she knows I speak rationally," his father informed, returning to his food. "She only hates getting wet."

All but Augustine grinned at that as she rebutted, "Which you are completely unsympathetic to."

" _No_ ," he corrected. "It is because you are so concerned that rain will ruin your dress, your shoes, your hair, and whatever else, when it's really of no consequence, especially during such an ordinary shower as today's. With or without rain, you always look lovely. Must I remind you every time the weather is not in your favor?"

Nicolas and Lumière briefly caught each other's eye at that moment, smirking, and managed to keep firm caps on their laughter while Augustine blushed. "Of _course_ not, dear, but even _you_ must admit to having a bias in regards to me."

"Bias or no, I would give you my honest opinion if you only asked."

"Would that mean, then," Lumière chimed in, "that your opinion would differ on another occasion? Apart from madame looking 'lovely,' that is."

"Naturally," Étienne responded, ever composed. "I could think she looks charming, or radiant. Perhaps even exquisite." He eyed the maître d' cunningly, knowing he had been trying to make him stumble, and Lumière gave him a respectful nod of approval.

The servants took their bowls away and brought out the entrée, cuts of seasoned veal with crudités, while they continued to chat.

"So, _mes enfants_ ," Augustine addressed, turning to the betrothed pair, "how were your mornings?"

"Quite pleasant, I would say," Nicolas replied.

"Rather quiet," Babette added with a glance at her fiancé.

"Oui, that as well," he agreed with a smile. "We were only studying in the library."

"The books or… other subjects?" Lumière playfully inquired, watching for Babette's reaction.

Babette knew better than to deign him with a response, but it seemed Nicolas rolled his eyes for the both of them. "We were _reading_ , Lumière. I had a copy of one of Madame de La Fayette's novels, and Babette was reading—sorry, _re-_ reading Ovid," he amended when she corrected him with a sly look.

"Perhaps I misunderstood," Lumière teased to Nicolas. "Was it not mademoiselle who was reading the _romance_ novel?"

"Are you suggesting that I could not be reading Roman philosophers?" Babette sharply countered.

Lumière had expected her to reply as such, and was eager to have her become more active in the discussion. He opened his mouth to respond, but Nicolas promised her, "Not at all, Babette. He only meant to tease me."

"He is right, mademoiselle," Lumière confirmed. He placed another meaning behind his words that she was sure to catch. "I am sorry that you were caught in our volley, but I must warn you that there may be much more incidents like that in store while I am here."

Babette stared back resentfully, though her poker face was quite concealing from the rest, especially since Augustine was remarking with jest, "Gracious, Lumière, we happen to _like_ Babette's company! There will be no need to attempt scaring her off."

He placed a hand over his heart to double his words. "I promise you, madame, I would not dream of it. But…" His eyes shifted to Babette. "… it seems to me mademoiselle is not so easily intimidated."

Babette arched an eyebrow, slightly inclining her head to him. "You flatter me, monsieur."

His gaze was steadfast. "It is not flattery if it is fact."

Her expression was unreadable, and she was the first to look away to her veal, but he believed he saw that marvelous shade of pink he had loved to indulge in before appear on her cheeks. He returned to his meal as well, but he could feel Nicolas eyeing him with curiosity from across the table.

Again, that course was removed and replaced by dessert: small, colorful bowls of fresh fruit.

"Where were we?" Augustine thought aloud, having become engrossed in the course prior. "Ah! Of course," she turned to Lumière. "What news is there to report from le Château du Lac?"

"I never wish to disappoint, madame, but I am afraid business at the château is as usual as before."

Étienne swallowed his bite of strawberry to answer swiftly, "Still, I imagine even if it really were so dull there that you would have gone out of your way to entertain yourself."

"True, but you would be surprised how little of risks I take under Their Majesties' employment. You haven't forgotten that we have an English majordomo, have you?"

"Does he still keep his eye on you?"

"Oui, and not merely one, but both."

As Étienne chuckled, Augustine said, "I remember we discussed him during your previous visit."

"I always have much to say about him, madame," Lumière insinuated. "But you can trust, despite Cogsworth, I have much to keep myself entertained."

"Somehow, Lumière, I find it difficult to be reassured by that," Nicolas alluded.

All save for the viscountess next to him, laughed. Babette had not reacted to Lumière once since they started on dessert.

Then, an idea jumped into Lumière's head and out of his mouth without any prudent regulation. "Now that I think on it more… I suppose I have something worth mentioning from the château."

He was watching Babette, who did not look up, but hesitated in her eating. They all listened as he continued, "A few months ago, we had a new resident join our staff."

As he desired, she met his eyes. Threatening and deadly, hers were filled with the blue fire that had ignited his passion for her from the start.

A shadow of a smirk appeared on his mouth that only she saw. He quickly erased it as Augustine asked, "A new resident? It _is_ rather uncommon to often take one in, I assume."

" _C'est ça_ , since the last one was hired over a year ago. Interestingly," Lumière went on as his eyes passed over Babette, who was definitely putting in effort to maintain her calm, "at least from what I had noticed, we did not have an open position available, yet we accepted her readily. Then again, I believe I was one of very few who took notice."

Augustine appeared delighted at this intrigue. "It _does_ sound peculiar… You say this was a woman?"

"I thought of her more… as a girl," he voiced, again peeking over at Babette for her reaction. Her eyes flashed to his very quickly before she took a deep breath discreetly through her nose.

"Is there really a difference with you?" Nicolas taunted.

"Come now, _mon ami_ ," Lumière spoke loftily, "you know I maintain a set of standards when it comes to my unique brand of shenanigans."

"Which happen to include women," Nicolas added matter-of-factly.

"Oui, _women_. Not girls." He said this exclusively to Nicolas, but even out of his peripherals, he could see Babette minutely shake her head as she quietly ate her fruit. Her clear aggravation of him that only he could detect was just adding fuel to his fire.

"What was her position?" Augustine inquired, never allowing their short digressions to distract her.

He glanced at Babette, who was stubbornly attentive to her dessert, before saying cryptically, "One that was discreet and concealing."

Her mind figuring, Augustine furrowed her brow in thought before she guessed, "She was a maid, wasn't she?"

Lumière smiled. "Certainly, madame. A face in a crowd, as I imagine was her intention."

Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he could see Babette's jaw tightening. He almost wished he could laugh at her exertions from—more literally than not—biting her tongue.

Finished with his dessert, Étienne set down his spoon as he prompted sarcastically, "Well? Have you managed to discover her intentions? Is there a conspiracy you're perhaps leading us towards?"

"Unfortunately, her stay was very brief," Lumière admitted. "Barely three months, but… I did manage to observe her, as she also was on my staff during that time."

At this point, Lumière knew he had Babette's full attention, despite the lack of its appearance. She was taking in every word.

"Are you any nearer to your point than five minutes ago?" Nicolas asked as drily as his father would have.

Lumière laughed. "All right, all right, I concede. I mention this because…" He lowered his tone to emphasize his words. "I have reason to believe this maid was not who she claimed herself to be."

All of their reactions were different. Augustine, who always enjoyed the way Lumière told stories, was astonished at hearing this revelation. Nicolas looked to actually be about to take him seriously, but his father still looked skeptical.

Babette, meanwhile, had finally allowed herself to watch him, and appeared silently resigned.

While Lumière had been observing them, he had decided to take the second bite of his dessert. But as soon as he closed his mouth to chew, a sharp pain out of nowhere shot into his foot.

He started in his seat, his leg automatically recoiling from the attack. His hand flew to his mouth to keep his food in it, and as his foot began to throb painfully, he couldn't stifle part of a groan from being heard.

The de Créquy were now looking at him in alarm.

"Lumière!" Augustine exclaimed. "Are you all right?"

At her address, he glanced up immediately across from him to see Babette wearing the ideal expression of surprised concern, but her miniature smirk gave herself away.

He stared at her in disbelief. There was no doubt: She had stomped her heel into his foot. _Hard._

 _I should have seen that coming_ , Lumière scolded to himself. Even when believing that he completely understood her, he hadn't been aware of having surpassed the limit of Babette's patience. Of all things, that should have been most obvious to him.

But her message was received, and a little too well.

He didn't take his hand from his mouth until he had swallowed the rest of his food. He cleared his throat and composed himself, waving off their concern. "Oui, oui, I am fine." Exchanging a pointed glance with Babette, he lied, "I only… bit my tongue."

Étienne had to smile as he suggested, "Perhaps you were overusing it."

Nicolas chuckled in agreement. His fiancée couldn't help herself either. A little laugh escaped her lips, but she quickly silenced it behind a secretly triumphant grin.

As his friend gratefully moved the discussion to another topic, Lumière agreed with the count, and kept himself silent for the remainder of the meal.

* * *

When they had finished, they retired to Augustine's favorite _petit salon,_ which faced the front court and gardens. The weather had been what it was; still rainy with no clear breaking in the clouds.

Lumière was obliged to sit on the long chaise next to Nicolas, since the only other seats were two armchairs, and the count and his wife always took their places there. Babette sat on Nicolas opposite side, completely obscuring her from his view. At this point, however, he was far from complaining. His foot still ached, and when they had stood from lunch, it had been harder than he had expected to keep any sign of a limp from showing.

Even if her attack had been warranted, he still felt justified in his reasoning for making her squirm. The pain in his foot would pass, but his pleasure out of watching her reactions to his words would outlast his visit. Of that, he was certain.

Plus, despite how stomping someone's foot under a table in front of future in-laws wasn't exactly unheard of, his shock at it dwelled. He was naturally incensed by Babette's attack. Not only because it was definitely going to leave a rather sensitive bruise, but she had expected him to cover for her actions. He almost felt like an advocate to her and this web of lies they must spin to protect Nicolas.

And that was the rub: He wasn't even entirely sure of her motives. Did she really love Nicolas, sincerely and truly? It was clear she was a fine actress, both in her natural society and otherwise, so why couldn't that also be the case? He didn't _want_ to peg her as conniving and manipulative, for she was far from it. But for concern of his friend, he had to take that into consideration. The stakes were very high for Babette, he understood that. But to what end would she go to make sure she won out?

He knew in regards to her time at Château du Lac that she had been under orders to keep her identity a secret. It had almost seemed necessary in that circumstance. Here and now, it was different. If she had told Nicolas from the start where she had been before Christmas, Lumière would have been the first to hear about it from the viscount, and therefore this all could have been avoided. But Babette had chosen to conceal everything and hide behind another story involving a convent. A _convent!_

Lumière had to grip the arm of the chaise to keep from face-palming himself. The irresponsibility and selfishness of it all made him wish he could pull her aside and shake an explanation out of her.

But the truth of it, as much as it ate him up inside, couldn't be revealed now. He had to wait ever so patiently for the right opportunity to corner her for the answers he knew he deserved.

Like the end of lunch, he had not trusted himself to contribute too much more to the conversation, but he still made himself snap out of his thoughts. Since Augustine was always readily able to initiate and renew any discussion, she would be expecting him to offer his witty remarks. He only did so this time when directly spoken to.

He might have glanced at the mantel clock too often, but he was anxious to get Nicolas alone. At least he would be able to satisfy a few of Lumière's burning questions to what Nicolas did and didn't know about Mlle. de Chantemerle. Though the notion would have never occurred to him before this, he desperately wanted Babette to leave, if only so that he could talk privately with his friend.

After a couple more agonizing hours, the evening was fast-approaching. Augustine entreated Babette to stay for dinner, but thankfully—in Lumière's case, that is—she declined, saying she was expected home. They all walked her to the foyer, and as they waited for the coach, and for Renaud to fetch her cloak, the countess expressed how she looked forward to seeing Babette in two days.

"Hopefully, the weather would be clear by then," Augustine went on. "I am rather desperate to take a walk through the gardens."

"I share your feelings, madame," Babette replied sincerely. "If the weather _does_ clear, I would be more than happy to join you."

 _I am no longer the only one casting enchantments,_ Lumière noted as Augustine smiled at her affectionately.

"Who was it you said you were dining with tomorrow?" the countess asked.

"Monsieur Accary and his wife."

"Oh yes, right. We've had them dine with us as well." She tried her best to not seem imposing. "Now I am sure your mother knows this, but make sure during their visit that the conversation is dictated. Monsieur Accary has a tendency to digress."

"Often," her husband annexed in a bitter tone. "I almost believe he can make time stand still."

Babette pursed her lips to keep from laughing. "We wouldn't want that. That would mean I would be delayed from returning to your company."

The compulsion to roll his eyes was too strong for Lumière to resist. Nicolas happened to notice and cocked his head at him, his eyes full of inquiry.

The maître d' grimaced with regret at his slip, and inclined his head towards the stairs, signaling that they would talk later. Nicolas affirmed it with a nod.

During their silent conversation, Renaud had retrieved Babette's cloak and the coach was waiting in the drive. Babette curtseyed to her hosts, but gave a special smile and wink to Nicolas, who basked in it based on his broad grin.

Only out of politeness it seemed, did Babette incline her head to Lumière. For her higher social rank, he gave her a small bow.

They held their gazes for hardly a second, but because they were meticulously reading each other, it seemed for much longer. With some defiance, Babette broke the connection and walked out the front door.

In vain, Lumière had only gathered what he had already known: her determined stubbornness, self-righteousness, and pride.


	5. The Sin of Partiality

With Babette gone, Lumière allowed himself to relax, though only by the smallest margin. He wished he could talk more freely than he trusted himself to.

Even when Babette was not around, he had to give false impressions of his opinion of her, all the while concealing the truth. He had the most certain feeling in his gut that this was just the beginning of a very nasty end. Could they keep pretending until her and Nicolas are wed, or did she expect to maintain this secret for the rest of her married life?

 _I will be damned if she believes I would carry on like this for as long as these next three weeks,_ Lumière swore. _She has already expected too much from me._

It was incredibly difficult for him to keep these reflections at bay through dinner, so he made sure to consume enough wine to remain in the present without sacrificing his awareness.

It was a few hours past sunset when they decided to turn in, and after trading "bonne nuits" with Augustine and Étienne, Nicolas and Lumière walked side-by-side down the halls to their respective rooms as though the maître d' had never left. But in the back of Lumière's mind, he was constructing how he would phrase his questions to Nicolas about Babette so they revealed nothing of his residual feelings toward her. After the trial he had just endured, any love he held for her was easier to temporarily set aside, especially for a friend of almost two decades.

When they reached their wing, they paused at Lumière's door. After a glance at it, Lumière was about to begin leading into his argument, but Nicolas got to it first. "You aren't too exhausted from socializing to maybe do a little more, are you?"

"If by 'socializing', you mean only you and I, then you read my mind, _mon ami_ ," Lumière replied with some relief at his willingness.

Nicolas smiled at his consent. "Let us talk in my room, then. My curiosity cannot last until tomorrow."

" _Your_ curiosity? Now I know you _must_ have read my mind!"

Upon rounding the corner of the hall, Nicolas opened his door. "After you."

Lumière slid between him and the door, grandly gesturing, "Oh no, after _you_ , Monsieur Fiancé."

The viscount glared, but obliged him. "Why does it only sound insulting when _you_ say it?"

"Because I am the farthest from having my own wedding as a confirmed bachelor can be," Lumière replied with ease as he shut the door.

"How can you sound so confident?" Nicolas had to ask while he made his way over to the chaise. "Do you really doubt you will meet a woman worthy enough to marry?"

"It was never a question of worth, Nicolas. I have met plenty of women who would make charming wives. I merely happen to enjoy my freedom, and getting married would put an end to all of that." He gave his friend an apologetic shrug. "It is a pity you will soon lose your own."

"You will change your mind someday," he concluded, wagging his finger at him as Lumière joined him in the armchair across from him. "I'm sure of it. All it would take is a mademoiselle who could keep your ego in check rather than feeding it."

Crossing his ankle over his knee, Lumière countered, "I know I am only agreeing with you by saying this, but that would certainly take a very rare woman, which even if such a woman existed"— _Of my rank,_ he had to note to himself—"marriage would not be necessary."

Nicolas made a movement to retort but he held up a hand. "And before you say anymore, I did not realize I had agreed to discussing my way of life with you. I hope that is not what you had in mind."

Nicolas deflated back into his seat. "You're right, of course. My apologies."

"There's no need, _mon ami,_ " Lumière dismissed encouragingly. _"_ You are betrothed, after all."

With a grimace, he corrected, "Well… not publicly. We are both taking our time coming to terms with that fact, but if you asked either of our parents, they would say we are engaged."

An eyebrow shot up. "Have you proposed?"

"That is one of the downsides to an arranged marriage, I suppose; a grand, romantic proposal would seem redundant."

Lumière froze. He had forgotten that Babette had precisely told him this fact on Christmas Eve. Still, he went on, "I… did not realize this was arranged."

Nicolas jumped forward in his seat, chastising, "No, no, no, don't take that tone! Your pity can come later. I have _agreed_ to the arrangement. We all have."

Lumière nodded, but his mind was still whirring. " _Bien_ , but… she is _the_ Élisabeth de Chantemerle, the infamous coquette of La Clayette."

His friend seemed to be well-aware as he inquired, "Is she what you expected?"

The maître d' still eyed him with uncertainty. "Not… based on what I had heard."

"Precisely," Nicolas confirmed with a smile. "She is not what the rumors have told."

"Rumors are founded in truth, Nicolas."

"Perhaps, but clearly she has put that part of herself behind her."

The maître d' rested his chin on his fist in mock-thought. "Which part? The open flirting in taverns or the amorous meetings behind them?"

With his friend's cynicism on display, Nicolas furrowed his brow. "Lumière… I am surprised you are reacting this way. She and you are not so different in that regard."

Straightening with muted indignation, he replied, "And for that reason, I should be considered responsible for vowing to never marry. She clearly has not done the same."

"Because it is rather impossible in her position," Nicolas reminded with growing passion. "She has an obligation to marry, as do I, so that our bloodlines can continue. You are fortunate enough to have a choice at all, and you know it."

Lumière couldn't argue, despite having plenty of reasons against this match, but frankly, he didn't want to pick a fight. Not this soon.

Taking this as his yielding, Nicolas resumed more contently, "Now, putting all prejudices aside, what did you think of her?"

He tried to be as honest as he could be. "She was… very guarded."

"I agree. She seems to become especially reserved around new acquaintances. I don't think she trusts very easily… perhaps for good reason." Nicolas eyed him with a bit of a smirk. "You were cautious in your own way."

"How couldn't I be?" Lumière replied like it was obvious. "I recognized her name in an instant. Not to mention, might I add… she clearly has your heart."

"That is an exaggeration!" he staunchly defended. "I am very fond of her and care for her deeply, but my heart is still my own. You must be confusing it for fascination."

"Or you are keen on denying it." As Nicolas gave him a look of warning, Lumière continued, "Either way, I am only trying to remain impartial. Is that not why you asked for my opinion in the first place?"

Wearing a disgruntled pout, he muttered, "I am not used to you being the one between us to speak sense. I don't like it."

"If it is any consolation, neither do I."

They both laughed, and Lumière felt his tension inside ease ever slightly.

After a pause, Nicolas watched him with expectation. "Is there… anything else you noticed about her?"

Lumière didn't anticipate another round of this question. What else could he say? If they had actually met that day, what would he have gathered from such a brief and concealed glimpse of who she really was?

As the maître d' stumbled for an answer, Nicolas stared at him in disbelief. "Please tell me you are joking."

Lumière glanced up at him, sincerely confused. "What do you mean?"

He became incredulous. "You didn't even take notice?"

Even more perplexed, Lumière could only offer an innocent shrug.

"Unbelievable!" Nicolas cried accusingly. "Who are you and what have you done with my friend?"

Glaring back, he retorted, "And you say _I_ can never get to my point!"

With the grand hyperbole that sometimes accompanies a dumb question, Nicolas asked, "How did she _look_ , Lumière?"

He gapped like a fish for a moment until he realized Nicolas was absolutely right. How did he not think to mention that, of all things? Babette's beauty had been the first feature of her many fine qualities that he had noticed. It had even struck him dumb upon meeting her.

Lumière fell back against his chair, shaking his head at his own stupidity. He covered his eyes. "Oh _mon Dieu_ … I am so sorry, Nicolas _._ "

"For you, I should say so!" Nicolas agreed, having to grin at his friend's shame.

Still bewildered, he stared at the floor. "I had committed my attention to everything _else…_ _Incroyable._ " Lumière looked to his friend. "Allow me to rectify that immediately."

He pulled up a vision of her in his mind's eye, and permitted himself to be taken in by her curves, ruby red smirk, and bright blue stare full of mischief. He took a deep breath as though he could breathe her in.

 _Do not get carried away,_ he warned himself before complimenting in the utmost seriousness, "Nicolas, I may have never seen a more alluring creature."

The dimples in his cheeks appeared. "Isn't she beautiful?"

"In that regard, I do envy you," he added without thinking.

Nicolas let out a laugh. "From pity to envy. My, your opinion of her changed quickly!"

"Not quite," Lumière corrected, determined to keep a steady head. "Beauty is far from the most important quality in a wife."

" _C'est vrai_ ," he acknowledged with a nod. "But in all honesty, her appearance complements her character extraordinarily well. I have found her far more attractive as I have gotten to know her. I only hope the same will happen to you."

The maître d' leaned his chin on his hand thoughtfully. "Then we must make opportunities so that it might."

Noting his conniving grin, Nicolas prompted, "What did you have in mind?"

"The next time she visits—with weather accommodating—let us join her and madame for their garden stroll. With your help, I am sure we can arrange it so that _you_ are walking with your mother, leaving _me_ to be a willing escort for _ta chère_ mademoiselle."

Nicolas pursed his lips. "I don't know, only because I know she will suspect our intentions."

"Then we make sure she does not notice them until a moment too late. Besides, I only need the few minutes a turn in the gardens provides. What's more, you will practically be within earshot. Trust me, she will have nothing to object to."

"If you are sure of it, then I have no objections. I think that will be a good start." He gave his friend a nod of approval, but then eyed him with teasing accusation. "That is, if you aren't as obnoxious as you were at luncheon today."

Lumière looked at him like he had grown another head. " _Obnoxious?_ "

"Yes! It was like you were… _testing_ her," the viscount said, seeming baffled at the notion. "So oui, I think it a rather apt word to describe the way you were acting!"

Lumière crossed his arms. "Well, I wouldn't call that my most subtle work, but I certainly wouldn't call it ' _obnoxious_.' Does it occur to you that maybe had you not been so intent on criticizing my behavior that—if you had removed the stars from your eyes and heart from your ears—you would have noticed her testing _me?_ "

Nicolas waved it off. "She was not _nearly_ as bad. I definitely don't recall any _eye-rolling_ to anything _you_ may have said, though plenty deserved that response."

With a breath, he acknowledged with some remorse. "All right, I admit that was a rather poorly checked reflex on my part. I did not mean any offense."

"Of course you didn't," Nicolas eased, "but… I'm too curious not to ask what caused it in the first place."

"You say that _I_ can put an enchantment on your parents, but she made it very clear I am only the first."

Nicolas smirked. "Is she impeding on your territory?"

 _In a manner of speaking,_ but he denied, "Of course not. Like you said, we need to become better acquainted. Then perhaps I will not be so quick to judge."

The viscount sighed as he glanced at the hearth. "I suppose I can see where you're coming from. A reputation can precede the best of us."

Eyeing him curiously, Lumière checked, "Are you referring to me?"

"Well… Before I had agreed to meet her, I was as skeptical as you are now," he admitted. "But then I remembered those petty rumors with the Levís' maid."

It took him a second to remember, but Lumière shook his head at the memory. "The product of a scorned woman's tongue."

"Exactly."

He jumped on the opening to ask his long-desired question, "Are you trying to say that what has been said about mademoiselle is not true?"

Nicolas then looked flustered. "I… have not had them confirmed. I just have chosen not to pay them any attention."

A sinking feeling crept into Lumière as he stared. "Nicolas, do you really think that is wise?"

"Maybe it's not," Nicolas acknowledged as he sat straighter, "but I felt it only right to give her a chance, and so far, she has proven the gossip wrong. On Wednesday, I can promise you will start to see for yourself."

His friend sounded so sure of this that, though he craved a more thorough interrogation, Lumière felt he had no choice but to resign, at least for now.

With a determined nod, he assured Nicolas, "I will take your word for it."

* * *

Without the risk of Babette's presence the following day, Lumière would have hoped it would be like she had never been a part of their lives. But after the previous night's discussion, he was finding it hard to concentrate on little else.

 _He knows_ nothing, Lumière kept thinking in bewilderment. _It is worse than I thought._

It was Nicolas' _choice_ to be ignorant. That baffled him beyond comprehension. It even made him wonder if Babette had done something to make him avoid the issue. What could she have possibly said for him to be _content_ to remain ignorant about her numerous affairs? Was he that blinded by her charms?

It wasn't like his friend to be this careless. Lumière had to remind him somehow. But as much as he wished he could, it wouldn't be effective in the slightest to try to snap Nicolas out of his trance with her. He would have to ease him out of it, little by little.

But was that a betrayal against Babette?

 _Perhaps… but then again, it is well-deserved_ , Lumière argued. Any allegiance to her could be disregarded in this circumstance, a circumstance in which _she_ was the sole cause. In fact, it felt like this all was an act of betrayal against _him_ and what they had shared. A careless, conceited undertaking that seemed tinged with vengeance, as though _he_ had been to blame for the pleasure and pain that had occurred between them.

He was getting more furious with her the more he thought about it.

By Wednesday morning, Lumière was resolute in his reasoning that Babette was completely at fault for their predicament.

* * *

The Chantemerle's open-air coach arrived at La Bazolle promptly at noon. Renaud ran out to assist the viscountess down its steps while the de Créquy and Lumière gathered in the foyer. As hoped for, blue skies had returned and the temperature was mild, the most ideal for a garden stroll.

The boys had confirmed following through with their plan only an hour before, but Lumière glanced at Nicolas to make sure of it right before Babette walked in. The viscount gave him a firm wink.

Lumière took a deep breath through his nose to calm his jitters. His anticipation to finally corner Babette was at its peak.

Typical greetings proceeded amongst everyone, and all the while, Lumière couldn't take his eyes off of Mlle. de Chantemerle, though she seemed determined to look anywhere _but_ him. At this observation, he had to grin.

"Now, Babette," Augustine began with a glint in her eye, "I hope you have not forgotten your promise to me from the other day."

With a tilt of her head, Babette replied with a coy smile, "Forgotten? That was all that was on my mind on the way here!"

Augustine laughed, enthused by her answer. " _Ma chère_ , you could not have said better! Come! I will give you the grand tour of my gardens."

Before the gentlemen followed, Lumière took that moment to cock an eyebrow at Nicolas to wordlessly say, _Didn't I tell you?_ Nicolas had to concede with a small shrug.

But halfway down the hall, Étienne paused before the first floor study to impart, "Enjoy the great outdoors, _mes enfants._ "

Augustine spun around, looking disappointed. "Must you check the accounts this very moment?"

"My dear, you know I've been putting them off," her husband astutely reminded. "I will not be far; I can watch over you all from this window. So when you see it, _do_ think of me."

With an expression of light reprove to his mocking sentimentality, Augustine picked up her skirts again and countered with poise, "I think there will be too much to see in the gardens to deign your window a glance, darling."

Étienne cracked a smile, clearly pleased. "Why, I would agree most naturally, Your Grace, but only because you will be a part of them."

With Augustine clearly delighted, they shared secret smiles before Étienne moved to lock himself in his study. As he passed the count, Lumière managed to catch his eye, inclining his head to him as though to say, _You have done well, my pupil._

Étienne shook his head at his ridiculousness and shooed him off, but he looked about to laugh as he closed his door.

Turning his eyes forward again, Lumière saw Babette appear to have loved observing such a rare interaction between the Comte and Comtesse de Drée. She looked to Nicolas with teasing wonder, giggling when Nicolas jokingly rolled his eyes and shook his head. Her fiancé smiled as she laughed.

After witnessing that display, the step out of doors was most welcome. Lumière breathed in the scents of the grass and gardens' blooms to keep himself steady.

Augustine called Babette forward to her side and walked very leisurely through the parterres as she pointed out the flowers in their beds. Babette looked to be a willing participant in the countess' enthusiasm, asking questions on where Augustine had found some of them and remarking on their beauty. It was quite a contrast to the aloofness she had maintained since Lumière had arrived.

"She really brightens out here, doesn't she?"

Nicolas' comment shook Lumière out of his close observations. With a brief glance at his friend, he replied with some quick thinking, "Are you sure it is not merely the sun at work?"

Nicolas stared at him with bemusement. "I never could have dreamed it would be this hard for her to extract a compliment out of you."

Lumière checked the distance between them and the women before he reminded, "I agreed she was beautiful, did I not?"

"Oui," the viscount said in a dry tone. "As easily as pulling teeth from a tiger."

Lumière chuckled. "Only in regards to you am I this hard to please." He tried not to sound as dubious as he felt. "If she succeeds, my approval will have been more worth the earning."

Relenting a little unwillingly, Nicolas quietly sighed.

Arriving at the core of the gardens, the four of them stood before a wide, circular fountain. At the center of the pool, neoclassic sculptures of twin men sat on rough stones facing opposing sides. One bore an ornamented shield while the other held up a ladder horn seashell. A Grecian urn at their backs showered water over them, and the fish lounging at their sides also had spouts at their mouths.

"And who might these gentlemen be?" Babette inquired as she admired the craftsmanship.

Nicolas stepped forward to her. "Have I really never told you?"

With a playful reprove, she countered, "Have you been remiss in your hosting duties?"

"It is almost as if they blended in with the statuary," Nicolas attempted to quip with a grin. Lumière openly cringed while Babette bit her lip in an attempt to stifle her laughter.

Nicolas eyed the maître d' past Babette as though to say, _She_ laughed, _didn't she?_

Lumière subtly shook his head, replying with only a look, _Not at the joke._

Babette looked curiously over her shoulder at him, but he had already moved on to murmur similar thoughts to Augustine.

Choosing to ignore his friend and his mother's giggling, Nicolas continued, "Well, allow me to introduce you then to Castor and Pollux."

Familiarity lit up her eyes. She looked between the two sculptures. "Which one is which?"

Nicolas shrugged, as much at a loss. "I still have not been able to figure that out. I _do_ know that my grandfather had commissioned this fountain to be specifically of Castor and Pollux, since in classic times, they represented skilled equestrians."

She glanced to him to confirm. "A family tradition, oui?"

Nicolas smiled at how she remembered. "Right."

"I remember reading that story to you two as boys," Augustine recalled. "It was quite the favorite of yours."

Lumière smirked. "We found it rather relatable."

Confused at this answer, Nicolas said, "I think you're mistaken. The concept of bride-stealing hadn't occurred to us until we were well in our teens."

With a roll of his eyes, he corrected, " _Mon ami,_ I was referring to their willingness to sacrifice themselves for each other. _Obviously_."

Though Nicolas tried to seem annoyed, he couldn't keep his dimples from showing.

"I certainly hope it would be the latter," Augustine annexed with a motherly glance at the two of them.

Babette lofted a skeptical eyebrow only long enough for Lumière to see. His jaw tightened as he thought, _If she doubts I would sacrifice myself for Nicolas—_

"Oh my!" Augustine exclaimed, reminiscence on her features. "I find myself strolling down memory lane! Darling," she called, reaching for Nicolas as she took to his side, "why don't you muse me for a while. I cannot seem to recall the other stories I read to you when you were younger."

Taking his arm, mother and son began a path toward the rest of the gardens. Nicolas glanced over his shoulder and gave Babette a helpless shrug, but exchanged a look with Lumière that clearly said, _Have at it._

Of all the ways their plan might have been executed, this was certainly the least expected. Had Nicolas told his mother about it?

 _Brilliant job, madame_ , Lumière admired.

He deliberately made his steps resound on the gravel as he came next to Babette, who suddenly seemed paler than a moment ago.

Calling on his cavalier grin that he knew would cause Babette to fume, Lumière offered his arm. "Mademoiselle?"

Babette met his eyes, and he saw the frightened doe that she had once been as a newly employed servant.

But in an instant, they turned cold and steely. Lifting her chin, she turned her head away from him and began to follow after her fiancé with hastened steps.

Lumière took a deep breath to steel himself. "Have it your way," he muttered.

Catching up to her with ease, she had slowed to a leisurely stride. The path that Nicolas and Augustine had entered was only wide enough for two.

After taking into account the few meters of distance between Nicolas, his mother, and them, Lumière matched his volume appropriately low. "I hope you were not planning to run."

Babette refused to look at him and stared ahead. "Did you really expect me to run in what I am wearing?"

"I imagine you could find a way if you really wanted to." In a modest attempt to be civil, he added, "You look well."

She remained unphased. "You know I can tell when you are not being sincere."

"I would like to assume so," he replied with a sidelong glance at her, "but lately it has become difficult for me to assume anything when it comes to you."

"Then do not make assumptions."

Anger flared inside him, but he managed to keep his voice down. "How about _I_ become engaged to your best friend without any warning? Then you can tell me how to not make assumptions in my current position."

Babette's eyes fell as she breathed deeply. "What do you want?"

" _Answers_." Lumière checked ahead of him before asking, "How long have you known he was my friend?"

"Since February."

He stared at her deliberately to make her meet his eyes. "And you did not think it worth sending a letter of any kind to let me know?"

"I was only thinking of Nicolas." He received a tiny glance in his direction. "You of all people should understand that."

"I am afraid I don't see the lack of selfishness in refusing to give me warning," he sneered.

"If you swallowed your pride for once, then it would be easy," she snapped.

"Forgive me then," he said with an exasperated shrug. "The logic behind any of your actions thus far has evaded me."

She finally looked him in the eye. "You are his best friend. He talks of you like a brother. If you had refused to come and meet me, he would have been so disappointed."

"Nicolas is a grown man," he reminded, doubting the sincerity of her intentions. "He was taking care of himself long before you came along. And apparently, he has become so enamored with you that you have convinced him to forget all of the scandals you left behind."

" _I_ did not convince him to do anything," she retorted vehemently. "It was his choice, and he insisted."

"He does not realize the cost of his own charity. With the amount of secrets you keep, it is as if he hardly knows you at all."

As self-righteous as ever, she said, " _That_ is where you are wrong."

He had to look away. She was so convinced she was in the right, yet all he was hearing sounded like nonsense. "Do you honestly expect me to maintain this ridiculous… _charade_ about a convent for you?"

Her gaze seemed to grab him by the throat. "I do, because if I fall, then I am taking you with me. And if you _dare_ try to reveal _anything_ about me, especially of the château, I can guarantee the consequences will be _much_ worse than a bruise on your foot."

During her words, Lumière had felt the urge to shy away at the intense hostility of her expression, but he refused to bend.

His teeth clenched. "This all could have been avoided if you had trusted me to make up an excuse not to come."

With less heat but with no less bite, she countered, "You have made it _quite_ clear that you do not trust me, so why should I have returned the favor?"

Lumière narrowed his eyes, wanting desperately to refute her, especially since Babette was daring him to say more. But any coherent thought he had was lost in his agitation.

He broke their stare, tightening the hands at his back into fists. _Impossible woman!_

They had all rounded back to the main path by then, and Nicolas and Augustine paused to check on them. Lumière hurriedly relaxed his features as Babette tried not to look as though she wanted to place distance between her and the man at her side.

Augustine rubbed her fingers as she looked at them in turn. "It seems a bit cooler than before, don't you think? How about we head in for some tea?"

They each gave their own affirmations, with Lumière's being particularly reserved, Babette's grateful, and Nicolas' content. Augustine seemed curious about the maître d', but didn't say a word about it as she took the lead back into the maison.

Making sure to stay at the back of the party, Lumière had to allow himself to wallow in his own frustration. He had felt no relief, not even the slightest hint of satisfaction that he had so longed for, from interrogating Babette. On the contrary, he was incensed by her overconfident replies.

Was this all he had to look forward to these next three weeks? Deceit and concealed hostility?

For the rest of the evening, dread settled in his stomach, where it remained and began to curdle the hopes for deliverance he had dared foster.


	6. Misunderstandings

Though he fought long and hard to prevent them, Lumière’s attention was bogged down by Babette’s words as the evening went through its progressions.

 _Stubborn, irrational, and conceited!_ he defined them. _And she has the audacity to call me proud. It’s laughable!_

She must think that her threats held some weight to react in the way she did. But in all honesty, what could she do that did not compromise herself in this arrangement? There was nothing she could _really_ say that would hurt him without running the risk of giving herself away. And wasn’t that precisely what she was trying so hard to prevent? Like the majority of her social counterparts, her words had no substance.

Unfortunately, that left him stuck in the same conundrum. He had made the decision to lie about his relationship with Babette from the start, so there was no turning back now. The one thing Lumière could do to make this vacation any worse was to tell his best friend that he had been deceived by his former valet _and_ his fiancée. Their friendship could take a great amount of pressure, but that would certainly push it to its limits. He did not want to test it when he needed Nicolas on his side more than ever.

Even in the midst of trying to be sociable, an attractive idea occurred to him: Why not another boys’ night at the local tavern?

 _Heaven knows how badly I deserve a stiff drink,_ Lumière rationalized. _Not to mention Nicolas’ reasoning can be more malleable after he’s had a few himself._ Now was a better time than any to try and convince him that this was an imprudent match.

His mood lifting a little at this new plan, Lumière participated more heartily in the de Créquy’s passionate debate on Étienne’s brothers. Though they certainly tried to include her despite her ignorance of the subject, thankfully Babette was easy to ignore.

* * *

Mlle. de Chantemerle did not leave until after dark. Fortunately, that was when taverns came alive.

It did not take much to persuade Nicolas for a night out, but Augustine insisted they take the carriage, and that they would be sent for around eleven.

“I have never heard a more stupidly dangerous act than riding on horseback while inebriated,” she reminded them. “I have heard _far_ too many stories of someone getting trampled to think that consequence uncommon. When it comes to you boys, I would much rather be safe than sorry.”

“If using the carriage grants you peace of mind, then we are the last to object, madame,” Lumière gracefully said.

“Merci, Maman,” Nicolas said as he gave her a goodnight kiss.

“Good night, my dears,” Augustine replied, imparting the same gesture to Lumière. “Enjoy yourselves, but not _too_ much, _comprenez?_ And do not keep Zacharie waiting.”

“Oui, Maman.” “As you wish, madame,” they promised before they bowed out of the parlor.

After fetching their coats themselves, the boys met the coach out front. With appreciative nods to Zacharie, they hopped in and were soon rolling down the drive toward town.

“So,” Nicolas began as he played with his leather gloves, “is there an occasion we are celebrating, perhaps in regard to a more agreeable evening?”

The shadows in the coach came and went with the swinging lanterns attached to its exterior, but he could still make out Nicolas’ expectant expression. “I know what you are implying,” Lumière smartly replied. “But I am afraid this trip was only prompted to cure my restlessness.”

“Has your opinion of her _still_ not changed?”

“After a few mugs of ale, I will be more than willing to tell you what I thought.”

Nicolas groaned. “I do not like the sound of that.”

Lumière had to laugh, though it was done bittersweetly.

The more pronounced clops of horseshoes on cobblestones were soon heard, and a few minutes later, the coach came to a halt.

With a reminder that he would return promptly at eleven, Zacharie shook the reins and went off to roundabout back to La Bazolle.

The raucous laughter and chatter of bourgeoisie greeted them upon entering the warm tavern. Large groups had taken up the majority of the tables, but they were able to claim their usual one in the corner.

After taking off his coat, Lumière offered to grab their drinks. As he approached the counter, a raven-haired barmaid’s eyes lit up.

“Well, look who it is!” she called with a teasing smile. “Taking another break from serving royalty?”

“For a time, oui,” Lumière went along, smirking. “All the more reason I came to see you.”

Marion laughed. “It’s good to see the château hasn’t changed you either. Is Monsieur de Créquy with you?”

“Mademoiselle, I am surprised you have to ask!” he lightly chastised.

She lifted her chin proudly. “That is ‘madame’ to you now.”

Gazing at her askance, he gave her a wry grin. “ _Non_ , it cannot be! There is a man in this world deserving of your heart?”

Marion brought her left hand from the stein she was drying to show him the simple silver band now looped around her fourth finger.

He took her hand to appraise it. “As though it was meant to be there. My sincerest congratulations, madame.”

“Merci, Lumière,” she glowed, then waved away her felicity. “But you came up here for drinks! What did you want?”

“Two ales, and make them strong.”

Marion grabbed two fresh mugs and filled them at the barrels before handing them over the counter. “There you are, _chéri._ Enjoy!”

“ _Santé_ , madame,” he toasted, sliding a _livre_ to her as payment.

With drinks in hand, he returned to the table to be greeted by a smirking Nicolas pretending to act impatient. “Now I remember why the last few times you’ve visited, I went to get the drinks myself. How’s Marion?” he asked as he accepted his ale.

“Recently shackled in the binds of marriage,” Lumière replied after a sip from his stein, but then shrugged. “She seems happy.”

“That’s wonderful news,” Nicolas acknowledged sincerely, drinking some of his ale as well. “I hope Babette and I can be as lucky.”

Lumière’s hand clenched briefly around his mug to stifle his frustration. He did not nearly have enough alcohol in him to talk about her.

As Lumière was taking more of his drink, Nicolas came out of a brief reverie to inquire, “So tell me, _mon ami_ , how did our plan fare?”

The maître d’ eyed the bubbly, brown liquid in his glass, which now looked half-full, before he mustered, “That certainly depends. I learned more than I knew before.” _That her opinion of herself knows no bounds._ “But…” His lips tightened in censure. “I did not like what I heard.”

Nicolas set his ale down, furrowing his brow. “What do you mean? What did she say?”

“It was not necessarily what she said, but how it was said.” He shook his head. “Nicolas, I am sorry to admit this, but I do not trust her.”

Nicolas slowly revolved his stein on the tabletop as he sighed. “You think she is playing me for a fool, don’t you?”

“I cannot discount that as a possibility,” he said with subtle confidence, “and I do not think you should either.”

The viscount paused as he deliberated, before he turned his eyes to Lumière again. “Is it a… feeling you have in your gut? One you cannot deny?”

Lumière paused with some uncertainty. “I suppose so.”

“I have one too, but… I believe her to be sincere.” Nicolas raised a hand to hush his friend as he barreled on, “Now she may not have told me every detail about her life, but she has been honest and open with me, and with all candor, that is what matters to me most. If you knew—“ But he cut himself off, unsure of his words.

An unexpected need to hear him finish caused him to instantly question, “’If I knew’ what?”

Resigning, Nicolas sighed through his nose. “She told me... and do not repeat this aloud,” he warned.

Normally Lumière would give a snarky reply, but he was too focused on Nicolas completing his sentence.

“She told me that…” Nicolas grimaced in empathy for the absent viscountess. “Before she met me… her heart had been broken by another.”

A sense of awe fell over the maître d’ as he processed this. He remembered too well that Babette had confessed to him the same sentiments for a man she had loved before. She had guarded those feelings from those around her as though she had not wanted to admit it to herself.

Choosing his words carefully, Lumière asked, “Long before she confessed this to you… what had you noticed about her behavior?”

Nicolas knit his brow in thought. “Very discreet and careful at first, but we came to an understanding early on. After that, she became more relaxed, though I suppose we were both still a little wary. This all seemed like such sensitive territory; neither of us wanted to say the wrong thing.”

He tilted his head as it occurred to him, “Her confession, however… did come quite suddenly. Now that I think about it, she dropped by unexpectedly that day.”

“When was this?”

Nicolas swiftly estimated, “Toward the end of March.”

If Babette had known that Nicolas was Lumière’s old friend since February, by then the burden of guilt from hearing Nicolas speak of him must have been too much for her. She had actually admitted to being brokenhearted months after she had returned home, after they had been forced to part.

All this time, he hadn’t expected her love for him to have been rooted so deeply. With the shock of her being Nicolas’ betrothed, he hadn’t even taken that into consideration. Based on her words and actions thus far, he had assumed after she had left Château du Lac, she—unlike him—had moved on from those feelings without much trouble. Had he misread her completely?

“Did she say…?” Lumière’s thoughts were racing too much to follow through with his question.

But Nicolas understood he was asking, _With whom?_ “Non. She didn’t give too much away when she told me, but she had been trying to hide the fact since our introductions.” He looked off as he remembered it. “I have never seen her more vulnerable than in that moment.”

He could not doubt it. She had been referring… to _him._

Lumière’s awe was swiftly replaced by shame, and here he had been trying to carry out a plan to ruin Babette’s prospects. He shut his eyes. _What am I_ doing?

She had loved him, had suffered the same pain from their separation for all these weeks. And like him, she was very good at hiding it.

To allow alcohol to carry out its true purpose, he leaned back and drowned his self-disgust in the rest of his ale.

 _Idiot!_ Dieu, _she was right,_ he admitted as he set his empty mug on the table. _My pride will be the death of me._

Nicolas watched him curiously. “What are you thinking?” he prompted.

Lumière rolled his eyes at himself. “How much of a _crétin_ I must seem to you right now. And to her as well!”

“What?” He looked at him askance before he nudged him with the back of his hand. “Really, how were you to know? Even though you are good at reading others, like I said, she would be the last one to show her soft side. I do not blame you in the slightest, _mon ami_.”

“It is not _your_ forgiveness I am worried about,” Lumière confessed.

“I can’t imagine she wouldn’t show you the same courtesy,” Nicolas promised. “There was little harm in your peculiar behavior the other day. I am sure she has already forgotten it by now.”

 _Oh, how little you know,_ Lumière thought, before saying, “Even so… I feel some apology is in order. What kind of man would I be if I did not admit to my mistakes?”

Smiling, Nicolas nodded in approval. “Indeed!” He hesitated before quietly adding, “I remember _ton père_ saying the same.”

Lumière smiled back, though it was tinged slightly by sadness. “That is one lesson I refuse to let myself forget.”

“Even if it’s the only one you ever learn.”

As Lumière joined his friend in laughing, suddenly, another stein filled with ale slid to a halt in front of him.

Glancing up, he saw Marion wink at him while she placed another full glass by Nicolas. “I hope you boys weren’t getting thirsty.”

Definitely more relaxed from his drink, Nicolas waved the thought away. “Oh, never! You’re a marvelous hostess, ‘madame,’” he put special emphasis on the word, eyeing her with a grin. “ _Félicitations._ ”

Marion beamed as she did a small curtsey. “Merci, monsieur. I should say the same to you on your upcoming nuptials, oui?”

Blush rose to his cheeks and ears. “Well, I—“ He cleared his throat. “You… heard about that?”

The barmaid raised an eyebrow at him. “No string of gossip gets past me. Is it not true?”

“Um… Not, uh, exactly, but…” Nicolas cleared his throat again. “Partially… true?”

It looked like Marion was trying not to laugh. “You seem unsure.”

Nicolas glanced at Lumière for some help, but the amused maître d’ was clearly playing the observer for a reason.

For a moment, the viscount pouted. “It’s—it’s not that I’m unsure. It is because…” He shrugged a bit helplessly. “It’s _new_.”

She released her laugh. “Of course. Well, you know where I will be if you need anything.”

Marion exchanged a look with Lumière and giggled before heading over to the next customer.

“That was mortifying,” Nicolas mumbled before taking a swig of his refill. He glared across the table. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

As though it were obvious, Lumière exclaimed, “Of course! I cannot remember the last time I saw you so flustered! And over a simple fact?”

“I don’t know what came over me!” Nicolas replied, at a loss. “It was just… when she said ‘upcoming nuptials,’ those words… _scared_ me.”

He straightened, deepening his voice as he tried to salvage himself. “Which is ridiculous, because I _am_ content with the idea, you know, when _I_ talk about it.”

“You would not be a man if the idea of marriage did not scare you at least a little,” Lumière assured.

Slightly deflating, he confirmed, “It’s… daunting.”

“I can only imagine,” Lumière stated as fact, smirking when Nicolas rolled his eyes.

Nicolas took another gulp of his drink, but slapped it back on the table as he remembered, pointing, “Lumière! You have something to tell me!”

Humored, Lumière eyed him. “I do?”

Getting excited, Nicolas insisted, “Oui, about a girl! I cannot believe we have not discussed her by now. You said there was one at the château.”

“Angélique?” he purposely stalled, sincerely hoping he would catch the bait. The last thing he wanted to do after learning about her heartbreak was to reminisce about his time with Babette.

But Nicolas didn’t fall for it. “ _Non,_ a different one. The one that you seemed to have been in love with.”

 _Merde_ , Lumière groaned in his mind.

Before saying anything more, he took his time sipping his ale. With a grimace, he said sternly, “I do not want to talk about her.”

“Come on, _mon ami_ , how long do you expect me to wait to hear about this woman? She must be special if you have so much interest in her.”

“’Had,’” Lumière corrected. “She no longer works with us.”

Nicolas became concerned. “Why, what happened?”

With shrug, he made up, “She found employment elsewhere.”

His friend looked sincerely disappointed. “I am sorry, _frère_.” After another draught, he gently prodded, “Is that why you do not want to talk about her?”

Lumière gave a noncommittal shrug. He didn’t want to think of Babette in the same way as before; it would be counterproductive. But Nicolas’s curiosity was only going to grow from then on, so perhaps now was better than later. Then after tonight, he could never allow himself to think of Babette romantically again.

After a pregnant pause, Lumière said softly, “When she left, whatever was between us ended.”

Nicolas’ gaze was sympathetic. “Can you tell me what she was like?”

A wry grin appeared as he replied, “She was the most stubborn, irritating, and irrational girl I had ever met.”

“ _Ah,_ so she was a _girl!”_ Nicolas joked.

Lumière didn’t react, but stated, “She was a girl in the same way that I am still a boy.”

Nicolas seemed intrigued at his wording. “So you had much in common.”

He raised his eyebrows as he said, “Perhaps _too_ much, but… she still struck me as unique. Around her, I was never bored.”

“Really?” Lumière nodded before Nicolas said, smiling, “It sounds like you met your match.”

“On more accounts than one. We fought more often than you would think.”

“Well, if she had as much in common with you as you suggest, I can certainly see why.”

Nicolas laughed at Lumière’s deadpan glare. “You have not mentioned how she looked,” he reminded.

“Perfect,” Lumière said deliberately.

The viscount’s eyebrows shot up. “ _Perfect?”_

His heart began to ache as he explained, “No other word can do her justice.”

Nicolas looked more stunned than was to Lumière’s liking. “Wow,” the viscount uttered. “I never thought I would hear you talk about a girl this way. You’re so… _serious._ ”

“ _Tais-toi,_ ” Lumière retorted a bit defensively.

“I am not—you misunderstand,” Nicolas hurried to put to rest. “I think it’s wonderful!”

But Lumière still had a scowl on his face. “Think about it,” Nicolas went on. “What girl has ever left this much of an impression on you? Unless there was another one you never told me about.”

Lumière snorted at that insinuation. “Even if I did, now I know to never mention her to you.”

“Lumière,” Nicolas said, refusing to be driven off-topic. “You’re smitten!”

His bitterness over his feelings settled in him again. “Don’t remind me,” he muttered.

Nicolas leaned back in his seat as he thought about it. “I wish I could have met her! She must have been a very special woman.”

The irony of their conversation hit Lumière most potently then, and rendered him mute. He couldn’t look Nicolas in the eye as he responded only with an affirmative nod.

His friend seemed to take the hint and let the subject die. He idly drank his ale as Lumière eyed the blazing hearth nearby, his own drink’s aftertaste turning stale on his tongue.

Even on a night that was supposed to be relaxing and easy-going, where he should be able to talk without restrictions, he still had to deceive. Would he be able to speak freely with Nicolas ever again? Now that he cannot allow himself to expose Babette and keep her from forever altering his dynamic with Nicolas, would that mean… that he would have to remove himself from the picture? What other way was there that didn’t include either revealing the truth of their affair to Nicolas, or covering up their tracks and accruing more wretched guilt before Nicolas _did_ find out?

What other solution was there?

Before he could develop any significant answers, the slap of thick glass on wood caused Lumière to jump back to the present.

“Lumière,” Nicolas boldly proposed, “let’s go to Paris!”

The idea of escaping instantly appealed, but because of the two empty mugs that sat in front of the viscount, Lumière had to ask, “For what?”

“A long weekend retreat!” he elaborated with a flourish. “We need distractions and entertainment and some culture, oui? To get our minds off of the past!”

His mouth slowly turning into a smirk, Lumière mused, “Paris is definitely good for distractions.”

“So you approve?”

“Wholeheartedly, _mon ami!”_ he replied, slapping the table to emphasize it. “When do we leave?”

Nicolas shrugged. “Friday morning? Let us give it a day to see if this was a bad idea.”

“On the contrary, Nicolas,” Lumière said with a wry smirk, “I believe all of your good ideas must come from a couple drinks if this one is any indication.”

In a devil-may-care spirit, Nicolas exclaimed, “A toast to good _and_ bad ideas!”

Lumière poured a bit of ale from his stein into Nicolas’. “ _À la tienne, mon frère!”_ he said before they clanked their glasses together and downed the rest of their contents, his dismal thoughts drowning with them.

* * *

Like all of the recent carriage rides to and from La Bazolle, they were lonely and too quiet.

At first, Babette had enjoyed the brief solitude these rides brought. But since Lumière had arrived, with no one to distract her, she was finding it more difficult each time to remain indifferent to her inner conflict. She didn’t want this battle of mind over heart to revive itself. She had spent so long fighting to resolve it from the beginning.

But she couldn’t get the way he had looked at her out of her head. His loathing had been the most obvious to notice, but had she detected repulsion? His trust in her was clearly shot, and he had admitted that he thought she was selfish. Somehow, he also now found offense in her “scandalous” past, so what reason could she salvage that proved he didn’t find her repulsive? That he actually thought her worthy of Nicolas’ hand?

Babette hadn’t considered he would react to seeing her with Nicolas this way, but she also hadn’t thought his opinion of her would have dropped so drastically since they had parted. Did he not hold for her even a speck of affection anymore?

She took deep breaths to stifle a threatening wave of tears. _Toughen up,_ she chastised herself. _It is his own fault if he refuses to accept me as Nicolas’ bride._

She did love Nicolas, in a very different way than how she had loved Lumière, and she knew her feelings to be true. She could marry him when she was ready, when they were both ready. Things had been going so well too, until Lumière had come along.

If he had the gumption to dangle revealing the truth of her employment at Château du Lac to the de Créquy while she was present, she could only imagine the kind of things he must be saying to Nicolas about her when she wasn’t around. He had become a threat to her and her family’s happiness, prosperity, and reputation. Her very _future_ hung in the balance with _him_ as the counterweight.

It had occurred to her to talk to him alone, to explain her situation. But if he no longer cared for what became of her, as was made obvious this afternoon, then it was a lost cause. There was probably nothing she could say that would persuade him to deem her engagement to Nicolas as favorable.

 _Of course!_ she came to conclude. _If he will not listen to me, then he will certainly listen to Nicolas_.

With how he had admitted his trust in her, and seeing as how loyalty was a virtue in Nicolas’ character, she had no doubt her fiancé would defend her noble intentions without question. However, she wondered if she might have to ask Nicolas to make sure he did his best in convincing Lumière of her sincerity. Despite how she would be content to have Lumière out of her life for good, that was not going to be the case if Nicolas was going to be her husband. They had to learn to get along somehow, no matter how much either of them were disinclined to. Nicolas appeared to be the only key to resolving matters between them.

With this solution in mind, Babette decided that once she asked her favor to Nicolas, her hands would be wiped clean of making amends with Lumière.

The coach came to a halt outside le Château de la Clayette. The moon sat behind the maison, so the shadows of the spiked turrets that framed the manor’s front stretched all the way back down the paved drive and across the lawn to the gate that enclosed them.

After stepping out of the carriage, and with a signal of thanks to her driver, she headed inside the main entrance, her heeled slippers clacking on the cobblestone.

As much as she wished she could head straight to her room, she was obliged to let her parents know she was safe at home. She headed to the parlor behind the staircase, knocking twice politely before opening the door.

She poked her head inside. “I am stopping by to say ‘bonne nuit.’”

René glanced up from his book as Clarisse spun around in her armchair. “Oh! Bonsoir _, chérie,_ how was the garden?” she inquired, letting her needlepoint rest on her lap.

Babette managed to hide her pout. Only her mother would take that as an invitation to start a conversation. “Charming,” she confirmed.

“I heard that they have a visitor staying with them,” René prompted casually as he removed his spectacles, though Babette could detect some intent behind his words.

Her mother chimed in, “Yes, I heard that as well. Who is it?”

 _Of all possible questions?_ Babette cried in her head, but she replied in low tone, “He is a friend of Nicolas.”

“Oui, but _who?_ ” Clarisse urged.

“You would not recognize him,” she attempted to evade.

“Why not?” her mother questioned with some disapproval. “I imagine we know most of the same people as the de Créquy. What is his name?”

The mere thought of saying his name aloud to her parents almost caused her to gag. Instead, she dodged her inquiry again with, “He is Nicolas’ former valet.”

Her mother became astounded. “Really?”

Eyeing Babette knowingly, René lightly teased, “Sounds like a rather peculiar name.”

She smirked reproachfully at her father, who chuckled, as Clarisse went on, not having registered René speaking. “I do not recall ever hearing of that occurring. Are they close?”

“Nicolas refers to him as though he were a brother,” Babette replied concisely.

Clarisse put a hand over her heart, clearly touched. “That is most marvelous! Nicolas is such a wonderful young man. I like him more each time I hear him mentioned.”

René was visibly impressed. “It certainly shows a lack of ego,” he noted as he replaced his spectacles.

“Absolutely!” his wife beamed. “Now I am eager to meet this valet of his. He must be just as mature and kind-hearted, I am sure.”

Babette felt her cheeks grow rosy, and hastily imparted, “Well, my bed is seeming more inviting the more I think of it.”

Though she seemed to be curious of her abruptness and tone, Clarisse still replied, “All right, _chère,_ bonne nuit.”

“Sleep well, _petite_ ,” her father added over the brim of his book.

At promptly closing the parlor door, Babette heaved a sigh, the exhaustion of the day’s deception hitting her most acutely. Her stomach churned at the thought. Craving seclusion, she climbed the staircase to her quarters with all due swiftness.

Babette hoped—she _prayed_ —that her parents would never have to encounter Lumière while he was in town, but that was laughably unlikely. Three weeks without her parents visiting La Bazolle? Based on past averages, at least two trips would be made there before Lumière returned to Château du Lac, so how could she possibly prevent reintroductions?

Still, they had only met him briefly on Christmas Eve. Her mother might not remember his face very well, but Babette, with heart cringing, was almost entirely certain that her father would.

He had always been so attentive to whom Babette had associated herself with, especially to those who were men. Once René realized Nicolas’ friend and Lumière were one in the same, how soon would it take for his inevitable inquiries to come? How well could she really hide her frustration and anxiety where Lumière was concerned from her own father, the one who could read her like no other?

Her shoulders were tensing along with her gut. She quickly but efficiently went to strip the multiple layers of silk, tulle, and boning keeping her upright.

How many lies was she maintaining? Nicolas, Augustine, and Étienne knew nothing about her employment as a maid, her parents nor the de Créquy were aware of her relationship with Lumière, and she was hiding from everyone that she was not actually content with herself and her own life. If she had thought times had been difficult to deal with before she had left home, Babette concluded that since returning home, she must have unwittingly wandered into some personal ring of hell.

 _“With the amount of secrets you keep, it is as if he hardly knows you at all.”_ Could anyone? She had to pretend so often, sometimes, she hardly recognized herself. _Her._ Who had always fought to defend who she was to anyone who questioned it. Now she was shrouded in the expectations of her parents, and the lies necessary to protect her prospects and the feelings of her family, present and future. She wished desperately that she could tear them off as easily as her own clothes.

_“And apparently, he has become so enamored with you that you have convinced him to forget all of the scandals you left behind.”_

“'Scandals!'” she huffed, her blood boiling. _How_ dare _he, the hypocrite! Nicolas was present for most of his own affairs, so why would any of_ mine _offend?_

Babette had told Lumière about them because she thought he understood, that his opinion of her would not change after hearing of how she had played with boys’ libidos to satisfy her own. It had been such a release to admit that part of herself to someone, and here he was months later, throwing it back in her face. To think that she had anticipated his visit, had been eager to see him again. It was as if he wanted to make her rue it.

If he knew how much of a miracle it had been for her to look forward to him stopping by, would that make any difference? Would that soothe his choler? Did he even deserve to know?

Wrapped in her bed’s sheets, she tried to curb her memory so she could rest peacefully, but her subconscious had other plans.


	7. Getting Acquainted

_Three Months Prior…  
_

_January, 1740_

With it only being a twenty-minute carriage ride from Château de La Clayette to La Bazolle, Babette hardly felt she had time to mentally and emotionally prepare herself. Thoughts of Lumière still buzzed around her mind, with all of their conversations, his compliments, looks of adoration, the way his hand had fit into hers, the sensation of his lips…

Babette shut her eyes, the moving image of La Clayette vanishing behind her turning black. She wasn’t ready. This wasn’t nearly the right time. If only she could say something, make up some excuse that her parents would deem acceptable.

 _But they are oh so excited,_ she reasoned. Across from her, Clarisse was positively glowing, and René had caught on to her optimism fairly quickly and maintained a quiet eagerness himself.

There was nothing she could say or do that wouldn’t reveal what had happened with Lumière, and the possibility of dampening her parents’ excitement felt like too high of a cost. This was what they deserved after having endured her time spent running around alleyways and taverns with boys for all of her teen years.

Her parents had rounded up her silence to nervousness, so they thankfully weren’t questioning her apprehensive demeanor, but what she showed seemed only to be a tiny fraction of how she truly felt.

 _Terror._ Terror was a perfect description.

The squeak of gates opening caught Babette’s attention as the carriage sidled through the bare parterres and around the empty fountain to park at the manor’s front doors.

Her stomach flipped as the coach lurched to a stop. She clutched at it, but her hand could only grip the stiff boning of her corset. Anxiety spiked through her as she was washed by a sudden wave of claustrophobia _. I cannot do this,_ she conceded to whatever deity was out there. _Let me out, let me_ faint, _I will do anything!_

Seeing her brow and mouth contorted in pain, her father reached across the coach to take her hand. “Babette, _ma petite_ , what’s wrong?”

She was startled at René’s touch and looked to him, her pained expression morphing into innocent surprise. “Wrong?” she repeated, mustering a small smile. “Nothing! I only… suddenly feel the nerves…” She let her voice drift off, still trying to calm her stomach through her corset.

Her mother took her other hand and patted it, her eyes bright. “You’re all right, dear. We are right here with you.”

René nodded in assurance and helped her rise from the carriage after his wife. Babette took a deep breath of the mid-January air, filling her lungs to their capacity. Luckily, her maid, Bernadette, had tightened it while her chest had been expanded so she could be sure to breathe a little easier.

Babette wore a modest, pinstriped navy dress of wool, unadorned by the traditional flairs and ornaments of her class. A blast of cold wind caused her to pull her cloak more tightly around her, covering her exposed collarbone as she trailed behind her parents to the doors, the only sound of snow crunching underfoot. They opened as they walked up the steps, greeted most pleasantly by a servant. Babette took one last breath of the clean, crisp air before stepping into the foyer.

* * *

Their introductions were typical and rather uneventful. During the meetings that occurred over the next couple weeks, the vicomte and Babette were under constant parental supervision. They would stay mostly silent as their parents exchanged polite pleasantries and relevant stories at dinners and in the parlor room. As Babette would try to look apt in attention at their parents’ less-than-thrilling conversations, she could sense the vicomte’s occasional glance in her direction.

The very moment they had seen each other, she had glimpsed a look of wonder on his features, and she pursed her scarlet lips at the memory. What sort of expectations had he devised? It didn’t matter that her parents had explicitly said he gave no mind to her reputation; it still pursued her. Any man would have concocted fantasies of her from all of the stories that had spread throughout the aristocracy, whether they minded her history or not. How could this one be an exception?

 _Crème de la crème_ , her mother had said. What if it had all been an act for her parents, just for the chance to meet her? Perhaps his parents were suitable enough, and seemed as honest and benevolent people as her parents, but parents did not always account for their children. Babette herself was a prime example of that.

She took another deep breath. This was the same kind of panic that had taken her over on Christmas Eve. _This is not the end,_ she assured. If she wasn’t happy with him, this wouldn’t be the end. Her parents would make sure she was happy first.

Though they each rarely offered their thoughts to discussions, what the vicomte voiced would catch Babette’s attention, because his views contradicted normal aristocratic opinion; they were sensible, and extremely self-aware. He began to sound less and less like the man she feared him to be.

After about a week, as lunch ended one afternoon, they all stood to head to the parlor, but as both pairs of parents left the room, Babette felt a gossamer touch on her shoulder.

“I don’t wish to be impertinent,” the young Vicomte de Drée, Nicolas, assured in a whisper, his brow furrowed earnestly. “But I had the hope that… perhaps we could properly introduce ourselves without our parents’ supervision… Well, without their expectations intimidating our conversation.” At Babette’s surprise, which he took for hesitance, he added fretfully, “If the thought makes you uncomfortable, forget I said a word of it—“

“Non,” Babette interrupted with a small but easing smile. “I would like that.”

His frown spread into a grin before he nodded, visibly relaxing. “If you would follow me then, mademoiselle.”

She did as bid and mimicked his path as he called to his parents. _“Mère, père_ , madame et monsieur, if I may, Mlle. de Chantemerle and I request a slight change of pace. Perhaps I could show her more of the manor, with your permission.”

Mme. de Créquy smiled at her son before looking at her husband, shrugging. “I see nothing wrong with it if Monsieur and Madame de Chantemerle feel the same.”

“Of course,” Clarisse replied, her efforts to keep her excitement reined in only visible to Babette and René, who in turn expressed uneasiness for a fraction of a second, but remained silent. “I am sure we could spare them one night of our talk of politics.”

“Then our permission is unanimous,” Augustine de Créquy established, glancing keenly between the betrothed pair. “We will be in the salon if you need us.”

“Merci beaucoup,” Nicolas replied with a respectful bow to the counts and countesses, and Babette mutually thanked them with a curtsey.

But she managed to catch Nicolas’ father, Étienne, sneak a wink to his son, and she couldn’t help but blush at the possible implications. _Do not get ahead of yourself_ , she chastised. How cynical her imagination had become.

* * *

Being in the thick of winter, Nicolas and Babette remained inside La Bazolle as he showed her around its interior, giving tidbits of historical significance and short anecdotes of his family.

Babette had accepted the tour despite her instincts, fully understanding that she had to get to know him eventually. Based on a week’s worth of observations, Babette could see Nicolas had a quiet personality, and with their parents in the parlor room downstairs, he was unlikely to corner her. She hated that she was thinking this way, but she couldn’t help but be overly cautious with all that she had experienced. Besides, she wasn’t ready. This was all too much for her right now. Why on earth couldn’t her parents see that?

He could probably tell she was keeping herself reserved and withdrawn while trying to be polite, and instead of matching her countenance, Nicolas tried to provide energy for the both of them. His descriptions contained a subtle charm and humor that Babette couldn’t help but pay attention to. Somehow, though, she began comparing his storytelling to Lumière’s. She did her best to shake the thought away while they travelled the halls.

As she saw more of the manor, Babette marveled at the simplicity of the rooms’ designs. They didn’t as strictly follow the extravagance and ostentatiousness of the Rococo style she was familiar with. La Bazolle reminded her of her own home even, as her parents preferred a tasteful and more modest approach to their home furnishings.

They wandered into a gallery, the deep red walls lined with portraits of all of Nicolas’ relatives, esteemed or forgotten.

Nicolas hesitated as he glanced around warily at the scads of paintings. “Well, these are almost all of my relatives, by blood or marriage, dead or alive, and so on.” He looked to her with uncertainty. “We can move past this room if you like. I don’t wish to bore you with all of the extraneous details of my family history. I have heard that is the very _last_ thing you want to talk about at the start of a courtship.”

Babette grinned genuinely, to her own surprise. “I am sure that contains at least a shred of truth, but believe me, you have not managed to bore me yet, and I doubt you really could.”

He brightened at seeing her smile before turning his gaze to his shoes. “You flatter me. I would attempt to deny it but you have not given me reason to. You are a marvelous listener, you know.”

Babette shook her head, becoming embarrassed. “No, no, monsieur, please. I have not been doing you proper justice.”

Nicolas stopped her with a meaningful look. “Believe me, you have. Listening to me ramble about this place is certainly no easy task, and you have inquired or commented on every room I’ve shown and story I’ve told.”

“Perhaps,” she shrugged, “but that does not mean I retained much of it.”

“If you were required to take an evaluation on my speeches afterwards, then that might have been a problem.” Babette hummed a laugh as he added, “Anyway, I can certainly tell the difference between listening and pretending to listen.”

“Still, I have never been complimented for my apt attentions. So thank you.”

“Non, thank _you_ ,” Nicolas humbly insisted. He gestured to the door. “Shall we?”

She looked around the gallery, realizing she was not only more comfortable, but rather curious. “Well… how about this: You choose one portrait of the relative you most prefer.”

He nodded, seeming impressed. “Compromising already, are we? _Très bien_.” Only briefly sweeping the series of paintings, his eyes landed on one that appeared to be an obvious choice for him.

He led Babette to a portrait of a lady wearing a beaded steel blue gown with a fur-lined sash of cerulean embroidered with golden fleur-de-lis. The soft waves of her tresses were pulled back, and looked as though they could have been brown before she had powdered them. Small, curled tendrils framed her forehead above her blue eyes. As with all paintings of women at the time, the lady seemed demure and approachable, which Babette couldn’t help but question. She had yet to meet an aristocratic woman whose disposition came even close to their portrait.

“Allow me to introduce you to Renée-Caroline-Victoire de Froulay de Tessé, Marquise de Créquy.”

When Babette gave him a look of sympathy, Nicolas replied with subtle wholeheartedness, “I could not agree with you more.”

They both released a chuckle before he resumed, “She is technically my cousin by marriage, but I hold her in such esteem that I call her ‘Tata Victoire.’ Her visits are rare, but when she does grace us with her presence, she would relive all of the gossip and tales of what it is like in the court of Versailles in such detail. Truly, her memory is flawless. She can recall entire conversations verbatim! Not only that, her commentary on the goings-on of court life has brought me to tears from my laughter alone. She is an absolutely fascinating woman, and I do not say that lightly. Her husband, on the other hand…” He waved his hand in a _comme ci, comme ça_ fashion. “He is not quite as charming. But she loves and respects him, so he must have some merit to his character he prefers to hide.”

“How old is she?” Babette asked, noting the prime youth of Victoire in her portrait.

“Presently, she is of thirty-five years, about fifteen years older than this portrait of her.”

 _I wonder how much Versailles has aged her._ Babette wished she could ask but thought it could be misconstrued as disrespectful… in normal circumstances anyway. Would Nicolas take it as rude?

“Well, she sounds like a woman I would like to meet,” she safely though sincerely concluded.

“If ever she happens to grace La Bazolle with her presence, I will make sure you are the first to know outside of it,” Nicolas promised.

He graciously gestured towards the gallery’s exit and Babette complied.

As they moved out into the hall, a delicate silence permeated between them, both in their own reveries. Babette was still wondering on how much she was allowed to say. After three months of being comfortable enough to speak her thoughts aloud, it was leaving her feeling handicapped having to watch what escaped her mouth. What was considered inappropriate, and what was not saying enough? Her corseted dress began to feel like a prison again.

Nicolas came away from his thoughts before she did of hers, though hesitantly. “Have you been to Versailles?”

Babette erased the lines between her brow before meeting his eyes. “Not since I was very little.”

Granting a small smile, he nodded. “It is probably best seen through a child’s eyes. As an adult…” He could not successfully hide his grimace.

A wry grin crossed her lips. “Is it so terrible?”

“I don’t wish to impress my opinions on you, but… it is definitely—“

“A pit of snakes?” she reflexively uttered while he insinuated concurrently, “A place of politics.”

Babette looked to Nicolas in alarm, but his reaction was merely of surprise.

Now self-conscious, her cheeks grew warm. “I thought… I’m sorry, that was… frank.”

“No, no, please, there is no need,” he hurried to assure, a touch of wonder reaching his hazel eyes. He gave a conceding shrug. “You are certainly not wrong.”

“You are being generous,” Babette clarified, quite flustered. “I spoke out of line. I had thought you were—“

“Oh, I was about to!” Nicolas insisted. “Really! You only spoke aloud what I was too reserved to say.”

“I am only repeating what I have heard,” Babette calmly resolved. “I have no place in speaking harshly about Versailles at all.” _Not here, and not now._ Dieu, _what an idiot!_ she berated herself. Why couldn’t she keep her big mouth shut when necessary?

Babette was too turned away to notice, but the faint excitement that had filled Nicolas’ character receded. “Perhaps, but… if it is any consolation, they will never hear of your criticisms from me.”

His attempts to soothe were to no avail, as Babette’s own self-chastisement was dominating her attention. A hopelessness had settled in her stomach, and her mortification made her want to flee this entire circumstance. Avoiding his gaze, she brusquely advised, “It’s getting late. We should return to the parlor.”

Helpless, Nicolas silently agreed before he led the way to retracing their steps.

* * *

On the carriage ride home, Babette was determined to stare out of the window in the hopes of avoiding any probing questions from her parents, especially her mother, though it was in vain.

“Babette?” Clarisse repeated. “Look at me _, chère_ , when I am asking you a question.”

Inwardly cursing her mother’s curiosity, Babette feigned mild surprise. _“Quoi?”_

Clarisse sighed. “Did you hear anything I said?”

 _Oui, but I was not answering for a reason._ “What were you asking, Maman?” she inquired with the most patience she could muster.

With a bit more emphasis, Clarisse reiterated, “How was your time with Nicolas today?”

 _Clarification that I_ cannot be a noble _._ “It was… informative.”

Babette saw her father raise a skeptical eyebrow, but he said nothing. She prayed he didn’t choose tonight to analyze her implications and truthfulness behind her words. She would much rather forget what happened that day than have René go through it with a fine-toothed comb.

“’Informative?’” Clarisse checked, the word having caught her off-guard.

“He gave me a tour of the manor,” Babette reminded as though it were obvious, granting, “It is a very beautiful estate.”

Her disappointment was plainer than Babette would have liked, though it should have been expected. “Is that all you have to say? Honestly, Babette!”

“You want me to disclose our conversations?” the young viscountess pretended to realize. “Is that not an invasion of our privacy?”

“So now you two have privacy?” René dryly inquired. “When just yesterday, you could hardly manage to look in his direction?”

A spike of indignation went through her, but Babette kept her poker face intact. She turned back to the window.

René opened his mouth to call her attention again, but Clarisse took his hand, shaking her head at him. She knew his intentions were for her to receive the response she had initially asked for, and to get the respect she deserved from her own daughter, but Clarisse also knew this was René’s attempts to detract from coddling Babette, a habit he was struggling to break without there being a radical difference. Still, their girl was acting awfully ungrateful in her circumstances.

They had spent almost every day of every week searching amongst the barons, counts, and marquises in the province, traveling its lengths for miles to discuss prospects. They had to preach their lie of Babette’s confinement to a convent while promoting her breeding, as much as they had wished that speaking of Babette’s personality would have mattered to any of them. It was a sheer miracle that they had found one who asked about what she was like. After answering the young de Créquy’s questions and agreeing to meet for dinner the day after, not to mention his family’s estate’s proximity to their home, Clarisse and René had known at once that Nicolas was all they could hope for.

Why couldn’t Babette see it on her own?

She had definitely grown, but she wasn’t herself. Babette hadn’t been herself since her return from le Château du Lac. She was compliant and respectful to an extent, but she was able to use those traits to her advantage in providing equivocating answers. The passion and fire that she had always kept kindled now seemed to have cooled rather dramatically. Perhaps this was the result of her experience as a servant, of a new world view.

What bothered them the most was that they knew Babette was hiding things, particularly her feelings. Her responses were logical and within reason, as well as detached. Did she miss being at le Château du Lac? Could an attachment there become established during that short time? The Chantemerle could make no sense of it, especially when they had asked Babette these same questions, and her reply had been, “Non, my place is here.”

René and Clarisse both hoped that this courtship with the quiet and sensible vicomte would lift Babette’s spirits and open her up again. Maybe in time, her cold manner would be warmed by the de Créquy heir.

* * *

Dread and frustration boiled inside Babette as she watched both her and Nicolas’ parents shut the doors of the parlor. Clarisse and René still smiled mischievously as they left the two of them alone, unphased or even encouraged by Babette’s poisonous glare.

Just as Nicolas had shown her around La Bazolle two days before, her parents had offered Augustine and Étienne a tour of their home, le Château de La Clayette, and they couldn’t have replied with more enthusiasm.

 _Damn them._ Being left alone again with the vicomte was the last thing she wanted. Babette hadn’t fully recovered her ego from their most recent meeting, and frankly felt discouraged about the match altogether.

The life of a spinster was beginning to have some serious appeal.

Both young nobles sat in adjacent armchairs with half of their backs to the hearth. Babette was leaning on the chair’s arm away from Nicolas with hands tied in a vice. Nicolas mirrored her, and like Babette, had found a pattern on the rug to stare a hole into. The only sounds between them were the crackling of the fire and the constant muffled tapping of Nicolas’ anxious heel.

Finally, after a few glances in her direction, Nicolas cleared his throat. With the way Babette cringed, she might have heard a not-so-distant gunshot.

“Mademoiselle,” Nicolas addressed firmly and clearly, pushing himself up in his chair. Babette refused to meet his gaze, but that didn’t seem to matter. “Upon my honor, I would apologize profusely for having caused you any offence, especially with how abruptly our last meeting ended, but…” His voice softened. “I have done enough analysis on it to believe that is not the reason you have retreated behind your walls. But please, correct me if I’m wrong.”

Babette slowly straightened in her seat, and though she turned her face towards him, she still refused to look at him. “No. You are not wrong to assume that.”

When he remained silent, she closed her eyes briefly and quietly sighed. She could not be cold and sharp with him when he was speaking so gently, especially when it was true that it hadn’t been his fault.

But she couldn’t muster any more words, and silence overtook them. She felt his burning gaze on her profile, could almost hear his mind whirring.

“I… Your parents informed me of your stay in a convent these past few months, so I can understand that this all… may seem rushed.”

Babette almost started at “convent,” but had to remind herself that this was the story her parents had concocted to restore her reputation. _Yet another part to play_ , she reflected bitterly. To her chagrin, she was becoming a talented actress in her own right.

The thought of it made her stomach twist painfully.

“It is,” she bluntly murmured.

Nicolas nodded almost encouragingly. “And it shouldn’t. This entire… meeting—courtship is… awkward and uncomfortable as it is without feeling secure… and prepared for it.”

Now Babette couldn’t help but look at him. It was as though he had managed to explain some of her feelings more succinctly than she ever could have.

Could he possibly feel the same way?

Their eyes still had not met, for now he was staring at the doors.

Babette relaxed and rubbed her knuckles as she straightened in her seat. “Am I alone? In thinking that way?”

He fixed his hazel eyes on her and immediately assured, “No. Nor will you be the last.”

The startling warmth she found in his response, that seemed to also penetrate her cheeks, made her avert her gaze.

A brief hesitation preluded his entreaty. “Mademoiselle, erm… M—May I call you Babette?”

Her name on his tongue sounded almost alien to her ears. Since she might as well become accustomed to it, she looked at him to consent with small nod.

The tension in his shoulders seem to ease ever so slightly. “Well… I would like to propose we… perhaps meet at another time, once you are feeling more at ease with our… getting acquainted.”

His phrasing was causing a corner of her mouth to lift in a smirk. She couldn’t decide if it was funny or endearing. Either way, she was in the presence of a true gentleman, and one that she hadn’t expected to ever come across in all of her dabbling with his kind.

Besides, to postpone a courtship to respect her feelings of insecurity? Unable to count the times she had to pedal through her irritation and discomfort as a count’s daughter, Babette could not recall such a thing ever occurring, to or outside of her.

 _And_ Dieu _, is it a tempting offer…_

But her parents… What would be their reaction? To admit she was uncomfortable would undoubtedly arise more questions, questions that she had been avoiding since her return home, and questions that she would rather not provoke.

No. Her parents didn’t need to know.

“Monsieur, you are—“

“Wait, wait,” he interrupted apologetically. “Please, do me the same honor. Call me Nicolas, I insist.”

Babette held a brief smile, and the new name trickled from her tongue. “Nicolas… you are most considerate in your offer but… I do not feel I should accept it, because…” she added, as she saw Nicolas open his mouth to speak. “… if you even propose we give ourselves time, then… that shows that you are either very perceptive, or that you might be voicing your own feelings.”

The broad, boyish grin he gave her suited him well; he appeared even handsomer than a second before. “I believe you have just claimed yourself as the perceptive one of us.”

His smile made the corners of his eyes crinkle, making it all the more contagious.

“Personally,” Nicolas resumed softly, “I am not opposed to taking our time, that is if you aren’t either?”

“Non, not at all!” Babette hastily replied, relief untwisting the knot inside her. “I welcome that, in fact. But…”

When she pursed her lips, he prompted, “Yes?”

“Could we… keep this arrangement between us?”

Noting her grimace, he bared a lopsided smile. “If your parents are anything like mine, they are more than eager to have the cause of church bells be for your wedding, no?”

Babette stifled her exasperation. “So we have that in common?”

“To the misfortune of us both.”

They both chuckled, and at a mutual glance between them, it seemed the ice had cracked.

“Well, I have been well-taught in the art of subtlety,” he informed with the slightest mischief, “so if this happens to leave this room, then it will be the walls’ fault.”

“Or because of a nosy staff,” she added under her breath.

He eyed her with a wry grin. “Nosy staff? Should I be worried?”

As though on cue, they heard two knocks on the door before her majordomo strode in carrying a tray of tea and pastry. He glanced up at them as he set it on the low table before them, pardoning rather innocently, “I do not mean to intrude, but this is of the master and mistress’ request.”

Babette cocked a skeptical eyebrow. “Merci, Henri.”

After Henri bowed out of the parlor, matching her pout with a smirk, Nicolas observed with fascination, “What was that look I saw exchanged?”

She waved it off. “Nothing. He only likes to tease me.”

 _If he says a word to my parents…_ But she paused in imagining revenge on her old friend and rival to prepare the tea.

Nicolas reached out and grazed the top of hers while insisting, “Please, allow me.”

She retracted her hand like she had touched a hot flame, but tried to cover up her surprise by placing both hands on her lap. “Thank you,” she curtly replied.

It didn’t appear her shock at his touch went unnoticed, but resumed anyway as he poured only one cup, “It seems we have something else in common.”

Furrowing her brow, she inquired, “What?”

“There are some members of my staff that enjoy teasing me as well. Sugar?” he offered.

“Oui, two spoonfuls.” As he handed over her cup, she had to comment, “If… you do not mind me saying so… you seem like the very last person that could be teased.”

Nicolas laughed. “I had thought so for a while, too. But my old valet found a way, and he found one rather easily. In fact, he found many... too many to mention.” He offered a shrug. “It has kept me humble, if all else.”

“I believe Henri has had the same intentions for me,” she noted. “I cannot deny its efficiency.”

He relaxed a bit more in his armchair. “I can only speak from personal experience, but he would not tease you if he didn’t care about you. I imagine your parents tend to do the same?”

“Yes,” she confirmed with a smirk. “And yours?”

“They do,” he grumbled, and Babette hummed a giggle. “They can be quite incorrigible when given the right incentive.”

“We seem to have survived the fray without many casualties,” Babette astutely observed.

“We are not out of the woods yet, Babette,” he reminded forebodingly, but his expression said otherwise and made her smile.

“ _C’est très vrai,”_ she admitted.

As she took a sip of her tea, she then noticed the tension had melted from her neck, along with her cold shoulder. She couldn’t deny Nicolas’ approachability, and it felt like one she could begin to trust, one without danger of getting hurt.

Perhaps he could be the friend she so desperately needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I won't be updating until after the release of the live-action movie this weekend, I hope you all enjoy the film! Fingers crossed that it's all we dreamed it would be! (Though my doubts are few at this point. It looks spectacular!)


	8. Preparations

After sending a footman to ready their Parisian estate, Nicolas prepared to spend much of the day at the Chantemerle’s manor. Thankfully, neither he nor Lumière had drunk an amount of ale that couldn’t be easily slept off, so around noon, a rejuvenated Nicolas was smartly dressed to meet Babette at her home.

“Are you sure you don’t wish to join me?” Nicolas checked one last time as he put on his coat in the foyer. “You would not be imposing in the slightest.”

“Bless your innocent mind,” Lumière admired with humor, “but I am certain Mlle. de Chantemerle would respectfully disagree. Both of you have deserved some time to yourselves.”

Nicolas conceded with a shrug before asking, “What are you going to do then?”

“I am on holiday, Nicolas,” he reminded with a roll of his eyes. “I’m going to relax as I am meant to. Perhaps I will read a book for once.”

Nicolas laughed. “The idea of you being idle _and_ content is one that will always be foreign to me. But enjoy your day of rest. We will be leaving for Paris in the morning.”

“I should be reminding _you_ of that! I want to leave bright and early,” the maître d’ demanded, appearing quite resolute.

Calling on an impression of his father, Nicolas said with elevated sarcasm, “I promise to not stay out too late, _bobonne_.” He dropped the act when Lumière chuckled. “I will see you tonight.”

“ _Amuse-toi,_ ” Lumière imparted with an insinuating smirk.

Shaking his head, but grinning, the viscount returned, “You as well _, mon ami._ ”

After Nicolas closed the door, Lumière was still at a loss for what to do with his free time. Did he really want to spend it reading?

 _Angélique would not even hesitate,_ he thought with a smile. But then the offer she had made before he had left occurred to him.

As the idea took seed, the more it appealed. Turning on his heel, he headed up the staircase.

Though he had never spent much time in their modest library, Lumière had made it his preferred place to gather his thoughts, especially in regards to wording a letter. What made the room even more ideal was, being at the southeast corner of the château, one window pointed toward the lush and rolling countryside, while the other faced the gardens and small forest behind La Bazolle.

The sun brightened the greens of the outside to a vividness that was both soothing and invigorating to see. He opened a window to allow the breeze of the day to waft through. As soon as he did, the pleasant chirping of birds could be heard in the bushes and trees below.

At the bibliothéque, he unhooked the drop-leaf desk, revealing some drawers behind it. From these drawers, he grabbed a sheet of parchment, an inkwell, and quill before pulling out the stool tucked between the desk’s cabinets.

As he took a seat, his mind was as blank as the parchment in front of him. How was he to explain everything that had happened? Where did he begin?

He knew at least _how_ to begin.

 _Ma chère ange,_ he addressed with a wry smile.

As his mind pieced words and sentences together, he gazed out past the manicured lawns and pastures to the cluster of rooftops in the distance.

La Clayette was very dignified and developed for a town as small as it was. It had the sophistication of a city with the comfort of country living, practically the best of both worlds. In hindsight, it was astoundingly lucky that he had grown up in such a quaint area. He had never been able to appreciate it before because in his adolescent eyes, it paled in comparison to large, bustling cities like Paris. With so many interesting places to go and exciting events to attend, how could they not have made La Clayette seem boring and provincial?

Despite how dull the town had seemed though, Lumière had been able to entertain himself with the women he came across. He recalled Babette had done the same with men, and for most of the same reasons.

By the time Babette had taken to the streets with amorous vigor, Lumière had been employed at le Château du Lac, narrowly missing the possibility of them meeting. Would things have been different had they met here in town? Would they have let feelings develop and deepen as much as they had if her social status had been known from the start?

Dieu _, look at me, wondering “what ifs,”_ Lumière chastised himself with a grunt. He turned to his parchment again, spinning the quill with the pads of his fingers.

As he refocused, what he intended to say returned to him. He put his quill to ink, then to paper as the words flowed from him into smooth script with few pauses.

Feeling content with his handiwork, he reread it to be sure.

_Ma chère ange,_

_I understand that this letter may seem premature, but I am afraid I have stumbled upon a much unforeseen circumstance._

_I neglected to inform you of the reason Nicolas asked for me, so allow me to explain. Nicolas has become engaged to a charming and vivacious young woman, and he was keen on introducing her to me so that I might give them my blessing. What a coincidence that she happens to be a mutual acquaintance of ours. Can you guess? I can wager that whomever you have in mind is not going to be anywhere near correct._

_D’accord, I will give you a hint. Despite her noble background, she made quite a delightful addition to our staff last season._

_Would you like to know the best part? Nicolas knows nothing. She has purposely kept my dear friend ignorant on any relations she has had at the château and most especially, with me._

_This has led to some very complicated maneuvers on both our parts, if you can imagine. I have had to play along in pretending as though we have never met. I still cannot believe she refused to warn me, for she knew that I was visiting._

_Because I want to spare myself the energy of writing the course of my thoughts over the past few days, and you the task of reading them, I will attempt to abridge them as concisely as I possibly can._

_Shock. Bewilderment. Spite. Anger. Conviction. Remorse. Empathy._

_If you are not astonished by my brevity, I certainly am for the both of us._

_To the misfortune of us both, I cannot put our dear Babette’s feelings in such clear terms. She has absolutely insisted on being anything but compliant with me. I have only just realized because of Nicolas’ recent disclosure that she was indeed as heartbroken as I was from our parting. I can hear you calling me the fool, but you can trust that has already occurred to me. It seems she has fostered her suffering into hatred, and my actions have only justified her feelings._

_I must do something to fix what I have had a hand in breaking. Though no words exist to properly articulate the pain I feel at watching the woman I love be courted by the man I call my brother, I understand now that I must be the one among us three to remain strong. I must overlook whatever woe in me ensues during the rest of my stay to ensure there is peace. I must have Babette know that I now have every intention of supporting her union to Nicolas for their sake of a prosperous future._

_But first, she must prove to me that her love for Nicolas is true. I will not allow her to let anyone else occupy her heart, including me. Especially me. Nicolas deserves a woman who loves him with all of her body, heart, and mind. Any less will not suffice._

_For now, I will be doing my best to guarantee these happen. Any suggestions you may have would be most welcome. Perhaps where Babette is concerned, you can provide an approach that I might not ever have considered otherwise. Better yet, if you have read a novel with a plot as tragically romantic as this one and where the ending is happy, send it to me immediately so I may use it as a reference to help me navigate my own narrative. Then I will need you to keep me in your prayers as often as I cross your mind._

_On this pleasant note, I shall conclude my plea for help._

_May no worries as cumbersome as these ever befall you, or anyone else for that matter._

_Yours always,_

_L._

He couldn’t help but be surprised at how he fit what felt like an overwhelming amount of information onto only the front and back of a sheet. He set it down again to fold and seal, but stopped himself.

As eager as he was to get a second opinion on his situation, one of this magnitude would be a cause for worry on Angélique’s end. While his wording was far from desperate, the news of him having to deal with the aftermath of both his and Babette’s affair with Nicolas as collateral could prompt more than her keen advice. At this moment, she was most likely at ease, believing he was basking in the good company of his friend without Babette at the forefront of his thoughts.

Lumière rubbed his eyes as he sighed. He had caused her enough worry for the dismal mood he had kept since Christmas. Besides, he was hardly giving himself a chance to think of something to reestablish Babette’s good opinion before asking for help.

Glancing through his words again, the delicacy of this information was great enough for this letter to be swiftly set to flame if it was not going to be sent, but he couldn’t convince himself that doing so was best either.

 _I will seal it as though I mean to send it,_ he decided. _If I find no inspiration while in Paris, this will be sent upon our return._

Until then, he would keep the letter hidden in his room. It would be safer from Nicolas at La Bazolle than in his luggage while they were in Paris.

* * *

When the sun began to set on the horizon, Lumière stepped out of the music room to see if either Nicolas or his parents had returned from their respective visits. When he came across Renaud in the hall, the majordomo directed him to _le petit salon_ where Étienne was having his nightcap and Augustine, a cup of tea.

“Bonsoir, madame et monsieur,” Lumière cheerfully greeted as he walked into the salon.

Augustine hopped in her seat, almost spilling her tea. “Oh! Bonsoir, _cher_.” She set her teacup down to examine her lap for any wayward drops. “You certainly caught me by surprise! I thought you would be with Nicolas.”

“As did Nicolas,” Lumière said with a smirk, taking a seat on the chaise in front of them. “But I had to remind him that a proper courtship does not include a third.”

“The keyword being ‘proper,’” Étienne annexed dryly, though his eyes remained on his gazette.

She gave Lumière a teasing smile over the lip of her teacup. “Ah, yes, I should have expected you to be more aware of _romantic_ etiquette,” Augustine emphasized with a rolling ‘ _r_.' “You think Nicolas would have learned as much by now.”

“It seems he is doing well enough on his own,” Lumière admitted sincerely.

“True, true,” she replied with a small sigh. “But now that _you’re_ here… well, I am sure you could help spur things along.”

A feeling of dread creeped into his gut. He arched an inquiring eyebrow. “How do you mean?”

“Augustine,” her husband said with a stern look. “Mind what you’re asking.”

“Honestly, Étienne, what harm could it do?” she defended, straightening in her seat as she spoke to Lumière. “I only bring it up because…”

She pursed her lips, thinking of the right words to say. “I don’t know what Nicolas has told you, but their courtship has been carrying on for almost four months, and he still… has not _initiated_ anything.”

Étienne squeezed his eyes shut and practically pleaded, “My dear, that is hardly Lumière’s concern.”

“My _point_ is,” she continued after stealing a glare at her husband, “he needs someone to encourage him in taking a few chances, and he always seems to be more willing to when you are with him.”

Lumière hoped he didn’t look as uncomfortable as he felt. “I suppose that is true…”

Based on the way Étienne tiredly shook his head, though the count adamantly kept his attention on what he was reading, Lumière’s discomfort must have been audible at least.

Augustine didn’t seem to notice either way. She eagerly asked, “So you will lend him a helping hand?” But then doubt crossed her features. “It isn’t too much to ask, is it?”

Lumière managed a small smile. “Your concern for him is… understandable, madame.” But the cringing in his stomach gave him pause.

This request went completely against his plan to interfere as little as possible. In refusing to meddle from then on in their courtship, he had wanted to prove to Babette that he no longer intended to prevent the joining of their houses. He now had the same wishes as Nicolas’ parents, but how could he promise what Augustine was asking? To _advise_ Nicolas on how to incite romance with Babette?

 _Whether to interfere or not, I will trust my judgement alone,_ he promised himself. Though Augustine meant well, he would know what was best for Nicolas _and_ Babette.

With some regret, he half-lied, “I will do my best.”

The countess visibly relaxed. “Merci, Lumière.” Reclining slightly in her armchair, she thankfully changed the subject. “So! How was your day at home then?”

He mirrored her grin, though it was half-hearted. He took a deep breath to ease the knot inside of him. “Quite unproductive,” he confessed.

She gave him a firm nod. “As it should be! You _are_ on holiday, after all. How did you bide your time?”

Lumière shrugged. “I… tried to reclaim some of my fingering on a Couperin suite.”

“That _was_ you on the harpsichord!” she exclaimed, rolling her eyes at herself. “I don’t know why that hadn’t occurred to me.”

He smirked. “I could name a reason or two.”

She waved a hand to silence him. “Non, non, _cher_ , you sounded lovely. It simply has not been played in so long that I hardly recognized it.”

“That was precisely my assumption. I spent the better part of an hour or so tuning it myself.”

Her mouth opened in an “aw,” her fingers at her heart. “Honestly, _mon cher_ , how have we gotten along without you?”

Lumière laughed, but Augustine insisted, “No, really! You were such a help around here, always going above and beyond the call of duty.”

“During the day, at least,” Étienne recalled, sending a sly glance in Lumière’s direction.

The maître d’ conceded to that with a shrug, mirroring the count’s wry grin. “I always do my best to please.”

Pouring herself a little more tea, she said, “Château du Lac is certainly lucky to have you.”

“Even if that majordomo of theirs believes otherwise,” Étienne added reflexively. He then furrowed his brow at him. “Don’t let all of this praise go to your head.”

Lumière dutifully saluted, but he couldn’t keep a straight face. “Oui, _mon capitaine!_ ”

Augustine glanced at the clock as she sipped her tea. “It’s getting quite late. How long did Nicolas plan on staying?”

As though on cue, the viscount came through the open salon door, rubbing his eyes and forehead. Baffled, they all watched him drag his feet and lower himself into a slouch next to Lumière, leaning his head on the back of the chaise. His eyes were firmly shut as though he could fall asleep.

“ _Ma foi_ , Nicolas, who caused this?” Lumière had to ask. “Her or you?”

“Both,” he grunted without opening his eyes. “Her wine…” He pointed in the general direction of La Clayette, and then thumbed himself. “… and my insistence to drink it.”

His friend burst out laughing, shaking his head. “Oh _mon ami_ , I _know_ I have taught you better!”

Nicolas sighed. “That is exactly what I expected you to say.”

Augustine looked on with tired disapproval. “Please tell me you did not act this way at the Chantemerle’s.”

“No, I didn’t, _mère_ ,” her son monotoned. He still hadn’t opened his eyes. Lumière covered his mouth to stifle another laugh.

The countess pursed her lips, dissatisfied, as Étienne advised, “I think you ought to begin sleeping that wine off.”

“Gladly,” Nicolas muttered, taking the pillow by his elbow and putting it underneath his head.

“In your _own bed_ ,” his mother corrected sternly. Lumière gave up on trying to hide his laughter, but thankfully, Augustine was too annoyed to care. “Honestly! Sleeping on the chaise…”

Nicolas groaned rather loudly. “ _Fine._ ” He tried rubbing his eyes and blinking to get the sleep out of them, but he complained, “I don’t think I can keep my eyes open.”

“Then _I_ will be your eyes,” Lumière bravely volunteered in a very serious tone.

Nicolas didn’t react, but understandably so. His poor friend was probably too tired to recognize humor.

But when the maître d’ rose from the chaise, Nicolas offered up his hand for his friend to help him stand.

Lumière hooked Nicolas’ arm around his own neck, patting the viscount’s back. “Just like old times, non?”

Nicolas only snorted in reply, yet he couldn’t deny there was some truth to that.

Lumière glanced at the de Créquy, using Nicolas’ hand to give them a parting wave. “Bonne nuit!”

Étienne seemed much more amused than Augustine. “Good night,” they replied.

Out in the hallway, Nicolas said, “I should probably warn you not to be alarmed if I start to sleepwalk.”

“Be sure to hold off until we have climbed the stairs,” Lumière recommended with a smile.

Before they crossed the foyer, he grabbed a lit candelabrum from a table by the doors. “I must say, I feel obligated to take the blame for this, _mon ami_. If I visited more often, you would be much more capable of handling your share of wine.”

“I can handle my wine well enough, thank you,” Nicolas replied rather soberly. He carefully watched his footing on the steps as he added, “The kind she had though was… quite good.”

“Are you sure there was not a little something extra mixed in? Did it happen to have a strange taste?”

He could _feel_ the viscount roll his eyes. “As if she would drug me. You’re ridiculous.”

Lumière laughed as they reached the top of the stairs. “If I were in your position, I would sooner want to blame drugs than my poor tolerance. I think it only courtesy to give you the chance.”

Nicolas glanced at him with skeptical surprise. “And you would have believed me?”

“Non. I just like hearing you try to lie.” He chuckled. “I can never keep a straight face when you do.”

“Hence why I didn’t bother,” Nicolas muttered, opening the door to his chambers for them. He leaned in the doorway as Lumière went to start a fire in his hearth.

“You know,” Nicolas began after a thoughtful pause. “It’s too exhausting to lie! I can’t imagine why people do it in the first place.”

The tug of guilt yanked on his gut, and Lumière was glad he could keep himself busy while having his back to Nicolas as he replied sincerely, “Similar thoughts have often crossed my mind.”

“Perhaps it can be just as difficult to speak the truth,” Nicolas reasoned as he wandered over to his wardrobe to change, “but when you are faced with the choice, why bother to deceive?”

Trying to sound like the usual voice of reason, Lumière replied, “I imagine it can become more complicated than that.”

“How so?” the viscount argued as he stripped himself of his jacket and waistcoat. “Wouldn’t fabricating more lies make the situation more complicated? Not little white lies we say to keep from offending strangers, of course, but those lies with _weight_ , that evade and distort the truth enough to affect the people around them.” He slipped on a cotton tunic as he noted to Lumière, “ _Those_ have consequences, no matter what.”

Lumière needed to steer him off this topic. He set the candelabrum on the mantel before eyeing Nicolas. “I cannot help but wonder if this is the wine talking.”

“And what if it is?” he asked, noticeably trying to stand straighter. “Am I not coherent?”

“Non. In fact, you are _too_ coherent,” Lumière granted matter-of-factly. “But you are starting to ramble.”

Nicolas groaned, seeming to agree, but by the look he gave Lumière, he didn’t like that he did. He trust-fell onto his bed as he yawned, and he stayed there with his legs hanging off its side, admitting, “I suppose I do need to sleep it off.”

Lumière tilted his head as he observed him. “While precisely in that position?”

Nicolas gave him a deadpan stare as he only moved his arm to grab a pillow and place it under his head as though to spite him. “If I want to, yes.”

He saw Nicolas close his eyes and arched an eyebrow. “Do I really need to tuck you in?”

“Oh, out with you already!”

Lumière threw his hands up in surrender. “ _D’accord_ , fine! I had to ask.” Slightly under his breath, he added, “This used to be my job, after all.”

“ _Good night,_ ” Nicolas said with the utmost finality.

“Bonne nuit to you, too!” his old valet replied with enough cheerfulness to irk Nicolas one last time. He turned back around as he gripped the doorknob. “And remember to be up bright and early!”

“Mm-hmm,” Nicolas grumbled, already drifting off to sleep.

As Lumière shut his door, he began to wonder if Nicolas would oversleep instead. If so, there were plenty of delightful ways to give his old friend a wake-up call.

He smirked with mischief at the idea as he returned to his room down the hall.

* * *

A little after seven the next morning, Lumière left his chambers, fully dressed and with a pep in his step. His excitement to travel to the city that was considered the center of the world was tangible.

He headed down to the kitchen and waltzed through the familiar doors. Since breakfast was served promptly at nine, as Augustine and Étienne liked, their new maître d’, Thibault, and the chef would not be down for another hour. He had the kitchen all to himself.

After boiling a hot chocolate wine with Nicolas’ favorite port, he brought two glasses of it out with crusts of bread and butter into the dining room, but he found it empty.

All trips to Paris from La Bazolle had begun with a _petit déjeuner_ a half hour before their departure at eight for at least the past decade. Nicolas would most definitely know that.

Lumière sighed as he set down their breakfast. He tried to feel regret at having to wake Nicolas himself, but found it impossible. He couldn’t keep himself from smiling.

Once upstairs, he carefully opened the viscount’s door, slipped inside, and closed it behind him. The light of dawn peeked through the sheer curtains along the far wall, dimly illuminating the scene.

As assumed, Nicolas remained thoroughly comatose, his head now at the foot of the bed with his limbs spread-eagle. Based on the pillows on the floor, he must have kicked them off in his sleep.

Lumière had to stifle a snort. _He could not have made this any easier if he had done it on purpose._

With delicate steps, he crept to the fireplace, where the dying embers faintly glowed, and picked up the bed warmer and stoker. Taking one in each hand, he neared the foot of the bed. Noting that Nicolas faced the left, Lumière held out the bed warmer slightly above and behind him for an intended maximum effect. He began to measure the stoker’s swing like a hammer to a nail. With his body in a fortified stance, he breathed deeply, and then clanged the stoker against the bed warmer over and over again.

The reverberant metallic drumming made Nicolas startle awake, and in his shock, as predicted, he rolled off the bed and thumped to the floor in an attempt to escape the loud banging. He jumped to his feet, his legs and arms trying to attain some balance, but he only fell back onto his rear into his window’s curtains.

Though Lumière had tried to maintain the clanging until Nicolas noticed him, his urge to laugh overcame his determination. He doubled over at the sight of his friend so disoriented.

He straightened, calming down enough to say jovially, “ _Bon matin, mon ami!_ ”

Nicolas had only been able to blankly stare as he got his bearings, but he immediately looked to his old valet at his greeting, his eyes quite alert for having only been awake a minute. They narrowed. “ _Lumière…_ ” he growled menacingly.

“Ah-ah-ah,” Lumière lightly chastised, making the stoker in his hand wag like a disapproving finger. “You were warned not once, but twice yesterday to be awake by now. Whether you like it or not, I maintain the right to wake you by any means necessary _._ Besides,” he added with a smirk, “you know you would have attempted to do the same if I were in your position.”

With sobriety, Nicolas got to his feet, seeming as though he would like nothing more than to tackle the maître d’. Lumière responded in kind by fixing his stoker like a saber at the ready, daring with an arched eyebrow for Nicolas to try, but he still smirked all the same.

The viscount scrunched up his mouth and puffed up his chest, but it deflated as he sighed. He pointed a threatening finger. “My revenge will come.”

Lumière chuckled as he retracted his stoker in proper fencing style, clacking his heels together as he stood tall. “I am already rife with anticipation.”

* * *

After Nicolas was dressed, he met Lumière as he was finishing off his bread. Though he wanted to remain bitter about his rude awakening, he admittedly warmed up a little at the sight of chocolate wine, as Lumière had also foreseen.

They were putting on their coats in the foyer when Nicolas’ parents came down the stairs.

“Bon voyage _, mes enfants_!” Augustine imparted warmly, giving both a hug and kiss on their cheeks. “Remember to send a letter when you reach Briare _and_ Paris, just so I know you’re safe.”

“Of course, Maman,” Nicolas assured, though he would have done so without a reminder.

“Would there be any requests?” Lumière asked knowingly.

Augustine’s eyes lit up. “Oh, yes, I almost forgot! You know the perfume I like to buy from that usual shop on the Pont-au-Change?”

Nicolas inclined his head. “We’ll be sure to return with a bottle of it for you.”

“Merci, _mes chers_.”

“Adieu, boys,” Étienne acknowledged with a wry smile. “If we hear word of a couple miscreants wreaking havoc wherever they tread, then we will know you’re alive and well.”

“Charming,” Augustine muttered with a subtle eye roll, but this only made her husband’s smile grow.

“We would only be following your example, monsieur,” Lumière expertly quipped.

Étienne chuckled as he stuck out his hand for the maître d’ to firmly shake. “Know to watch what you say when you’re there. Paris is not as forgiving as I am.”

Lumière nodded with a grin. “Without question.”

He did the same to his son, and patted Nicolas on the shoulder. “Keep an eye on that one,” he advised in a low tone, referring to Lumière.

Nicolas smiled. “As per usual.”

“So you say,” Lumière said to Nicolas, crossing his arms. “But we both know I have been the more responsible one between us when in Paris.”

Nicolas eyed him, recognizing exactly what he was insinuating, but facetiously replied, “Ah, oui, I do recall that _one_ time.”

When his friend scowled, he laughed and gave him a stiff slap on the back before turning toward the door. He waved to his parents. “Adieu!”

Lumière gracefully bowed to the count and countess as he murmured, “I will take good care of him.”

Augustine smiled at him, touching his shoulder. “Thank you, _cher_.”

He nodded to her, mirroring her smile, and saluted Étienne before following after Nicolas.

Having already saddled their horses with their luggage, Romain waited just outside gripping their reins. Nicolas had climbed atop his roan steed and was gazing at the cloudless skies as Lumière thanked Romain and mounted his mare.

He brought his horse astride Nicolas’. “Ready?”

Nicolas nodded, grinning with excitement. “Let’s be off!”

He kicked his stallion’s sides, cantered off through the open gate, and turned north at the main road with Lumière close behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Being a kind of exposition for the second part of the book, this is one of those "in-between" chapters. That's why it took me so long to write. With the summer just starting, I hope to have more time to work on this story! Thank you for being patient with me!


	9. Hills and Valleys

The road they took closely followed the Loire river, its trickling melodies accompanying the light rustling of trees’ leaves and delicate birdsongs. The morning chill could be bracing at times, but otherwise, it was the start of a beautiful day.

Whenever their surroundings became worthy of appreciation, Lumière and Nicolas would mutually let their conversations drift off. Normally, a prolonged silence between others would prompt Lumière to keep talking, but he never felt the need with Nicolas. Their silences, especially when riding, felt comfortable and natural.

As the sun rose above the treetops, they watered their horses at a stream that drifted off the main river. While sifting through his saddlebag for the usual bread and cheese, Lumière rediscovered his leftover macaroons and tossed one to Nicolas.

His eyes widened. “Are these from Mrs. Potts?”

“Perhaps,” Lumière teased, smirking at Nicolas’ sudden elation.

He took a bite of the cookie and a look of ecstasy crossed his face. “Oh… _magnifique._ ”

Out of the goodness of his heart—and after Nicolas kept asking for another one—Lumière handed over the rest of the bag. The vicomte was nibbling on them to properly savor their sweetness as they passed through Nevers.

The Loire river strayed temporarily to the west as they continued on the road, but its familiar song returned within a few miles. From their right, the tang of grapes would waft on the wind during stretches of the occasional vineyard that would occur in between a field of wheat, wildflowers, or rolling hills.

Since Nicolas had neglected to mention what had happened outside of his courtship with Babette, he recounted the highlights of the week his family had spent in Versailles the previous November to Lumière, who went between shock and mirth at the stories of various aristocrats and their escapades. Though Nicolas wasn’t one for gossip, he was not above regaling what he had witnessed to those close to him, especially when he thought it ridiculous or entertaining.

This made time pass all the more quickly. When they finally reached Briare, the sun was rapidly setting. Even after a filling meal at one of the town’s taverns, they enjoyed a few pints before bed, their laughter blending right into the rest of the tenants’ chatter.

They were up just as early the next morning, this time with Nicolas being the first awake. While Lumière dressed and readied the horses, Nicolas walked the letter he had promised his mother to the post down the street. By the time he returned, they were on the road again, their water skins full and their bread and cheese restocked.

The sky had some sparse clouds, but it was still as pleasantly temperate as the day before. Unfortunately, the Loire river had taken its currents and its song westward. The rhythmic clops of their horses’ hooves on the trail attempted to fill what the river had left vacant.

When the sun had reached its peak, they approached a small village that sat on the Loing river. They stretched their legs only briefly before continuing into the forest beyond, both anxious to reach a warm fire and feather beds.

* * *

From the calm of the countryside to the cacophony of the city, it certainly was telling that one did not have to be able to see to know that they were in Paris. Chirping birds turned into shouts from the open windows of apartments above, and the rustling of leaves turned into the creaks of wooden wheels on wagons that carried their owners’ wares. Amidst the boisterous conversations of a hundred voices, glass would shatter here, a soprano’s lyric timbre would sail above them there, and a baby’s cry would pierce through it all anywhere.

As they followed the Seine north, horses and pedestrians walked passed them, many on their way home from their jobs. The gentlemen curved through the cobblestone streets toward the center of the man-made metropolis, where the upper classes resided.

Off rue Saint-Antoine, they turned into a long archway that opened into a courtyard at the center of the de Créquy’s Parisian property, Hôtel de Beauvais.

Both men eagerly dismounted their horses as their footman ran up to them from behind.

“Bonsoir, messieurs!” he called cheerfully.

Lumière turned to grin at the always upbeat footman. “Ah, Marc! I am glad to see you made it here in one piece—and on such short notice.”

“Oui, Marc,” Nicolas sincerely agreed, “I very much appreciate your speed, and for agreeing to race out here so quickly.”

“Oh, I was happy to!” Marc professed, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “There’s not a more pleasant surprise than being told you must go to Paris. A lovely time of year for it, too!”

“Indeed,” Nicolas said with a fond smile. He glanced around at the ivory stone walls and arched windows. “Was she in bad shape?”

Marc fervently shook his head. “Oh no, nothing a little dusting couldn’t do. After I arrived, I was able to contact the team of maids that normally keep this place sparkling. Do you remember Pauline?” he addressed more to Lumière than Nicolas.

The maître d’ furrowed his brow as he guessed, “Red hair and charming freckles?”

Marc grinned. “Just the same. She has agreed to work during your stay to make the beds and such. I also thought she might be of help to Mlle. de Chantemerle if need be, though I am sure mademoiselle must be bringing her own maid.”

Lumière felt his insides freeze. He was still trying to process if he had heard correctly while Nicolas replied, “I believe so, too, but Pauline’s services would be most welcome. Could you be sure to pay her the wages deserved at the end of the week?”

The footman nodded. “Naturally! I will make a note of it, monsieur.” He gestured to their horses. “Would you like me to stable them for you?”

“That would be wonderful, Marc, thank you,” Nicolas said while taking note of how pale Lumière suddenly seemed.

“And do not worry about your bags!” Marc insisted as he went to take the reins. At his five-foot-six stature, the horses appeared a great deal bigger in comparison. “I can take them up to your rooms. Go inside and rest!”

Nicolas inclined his head to him, watching the footman take the horses to the stable just off the courtyard only briefly before stepping near Lumière to murmur with concern, “Are you all right?”

Lumière started, his mind having been reeling at a panic-stricken rate. At Nicolas’ expression, he cursed himself for allowing his internal distress to show.

He attempted to smooth it over with a cavalier grin. “Of course! Just a bit of fatigue.” He patted encouragingly on his friend’s shoulder and strode to the entrance as he prompted, “Come, let’s do as the man said.”

Nicolas blinked, a bit taken aback at his recovery, but followed suit.

In the salon outside the dining room, a fire in the hearth was already ablaze. Lumière busily took off his coat and collapsed on the chaise, all the while trying to figure how to casually ask about what he had heard, despite how desperately his question was poised on his tongue.

Nicolas had joined him in the salon, setting his own coat over an armchair before sitting in it.

Lumière cleared his throat. His heart was beating unusually fast. “Nicolas?”

He glanced up from removing his gloves. “Yes?”

The maître d’ crossed his arms. “Did I… hear Marc correctly? That Mlle. de Chantemerle will be joining us?”

“Oui…” Nicolas arched an eyebrow, giving Lumière the once-over. “Why? You look unsettled.”

Lumière huffed a laugh. “Well, this _is_ the first I’ve heard of it.”

It was Nicolas’ turn to be confused. “Didn’t I tell you?”

A flint of anger sparked in his chest, but Lumière said coolly, “I certainly would have recalled such a significant detail.”

“Oh.” Nicolas ran a hand through his hair, mumbling, “It must have… slipped my mind.”

Lumière sighed, making sure to keep himself calm. “Given the state you were in the other night, that is not a surprise. But how, may I ask, did you extend her an invitation?”

Nicolas shrugged, not quite meeting Lumière’s eye. “I happened to mention our trip after a couple glasses, and she seemed quite interested. She said it had been ages since she had visited Paris, so I offered her to join us.” With some caution, he finally watched Lumière, looking contrite. “Are you disappointed?”

“Non,” Lumière assured, not wanting to worry his friend. “It is only a little… unexpected.”

The vicomte sighed, realizing his mistake. “You wanted it to be just the two of us.”

Lumière adamantly shook his head. “That would be selfish of me to want to keep you from your fiancée. Besides, this is _your_ family’s hôtel. You are entitled to invite whomever you wish. Who am I to deny that?”

When Nicolas still seemed unsure, Lumière went on to say, “If she is bringing a maid of her own, then at least our numbers are even.”

His friend laughed. “That is true.” Encouraged by this, he added with a sly grin, “Who knows? You may even take a liking to her.”

Despite his doubts, Lumière gave him a one-sided smirk. “We shall see.”

With his thoughts still anxiously whirring, the maître d’ glanced at the mantel clock before he stood. “Well, if mademoiselle is to arrive at any moment, I will make sure there is a meal prepared.”

Leaning on the armrest closest to Lumière, Nicolas stopped him. “I know you have always insisted on playing the cook whenever we come out here, but if you like, I am sure we can find one to hire for the week.”

“That is kind of you,” Lumière replied sincerely, “but, though it may be hard to believe, I rather enjoy playing the cook on these visits. In fact, I do not find much opportunity to otherwise, even at the château.”

Nicolas contemplated that as he skeptically said, “The head of the kitchen does not have the opportunity to cook…”

“Trust me, I have long since recognized the irony,” Lumière acknowledged as he exited the salon. “You could say I live with it.”

He heard Nicolas chuckle before he took the hallway to the kitchen in determined strides. Taking a deep breath, he tried to soothe his trepidation.

So, his assumed time away to ascertain how to establish a truce with Babette was completely obliterated. For at least once in his life, he had wanted to truly take the opportunity to consider a plan _rather_ than have to think on his feet. With how delicate and vital their situation was, he did not want to resort to the risk of improvisation, no matter how skilled he was at it.

Though he wouldn’t have minded cooking anyway, Lumière was glad for the chance to be alone and have something to do while he brainstormed. Despite how angry he wanted to be with Nicolas, it was not his friend’s fault. Lumière should have expected this to happen _and_ drawn up a plan B instead of wasting the day before they had left on the harpsichord.

He paused in the middle of grabbing ingredients from the pantry to shake out the regrets. _Time is wasted thinking on the past,_ he reminded himself.

As he let the simmering, sizzling, and smells of the cooking food keep his attention, he waited for some idea— _any_ idea—that could be his answer.

* * *

When a tall mass of stone buildings and clay rooftops appeared on the horizon, Babette rubbed the shoulder of her napping maid. “Bernadette,” she called. “We are almost there."

Bernadette slowly sat up and stretched as the post chaise hit a bump on the road. Both bounced on the cushioned seats and she squeaked in surprise mid-yawn.

Recovering quickly, she tried to peek around the driver and horses. “Ooh, how close are we?”

“About thirty minutes, miss, give or take,” the driver said over his shoulder.

Bernadette slumped. “Oh.”

In contrast, Babette’s back had hardly touched the chaise the entire day’s ride. She smiled apologetically at her maid. “I am sorry to have woken you so soon.”

“Oh, there is no need to apologize,” Bernadette hurried to assure. “I’m sorry I haven’t been much company! Carriages always makes me sleepy.” To emphasize her point, she sang through another yawn.

Thinking of how little she normally talked while riding, Babette said, “I am hardly adequate company either.” She glanced at her, smirking. “What fine traveling companions we make.”

Giggling, Bernadette looked at the clear blue sky. “This _has_ been the most amiable ride I can remember. Such beautiful weather, too!”

Babette had to grimace as she remembered the few rides she had made with her family last year. “We were rather inclined to argue, weren’t we? My parents and I.”

Her maid gave her a meek shrug. “Perhaps, but…” She covered Babette’s hand encouragingly. “Things have certainly improved since you returned home.”

Babette tried to mirror her smile, but it fell short. Bernadette withdrew her hand as they mutually looked off to watch the countryside begin to fade into the outskirts of Paris.

She could feel Bernadette making sidelong glances at her as the silence progressed, and Babette patiently waited for her to say what she must.

As predicted, Bernadette tentatively said, “Mistress, forgive me for asking, but… have you been feeling well?”

Babette closed her eyes for a moment, breathing deeply as the maid continued, “You’ve seemed… out-of-sorts this past week.”

The viscountess hesitated. She wanted to let someone she trusted in on her secrets, especially for this trip, but how much should she really tell? Bernadette still answered in some respects to her parents; could she make Babette a promise to keep what she told her in the strictest of confidence?

The answer came to her quickly. _Yes._ Babette needed a true ally and confidante while in Nicolas and Lumière’s company, and Bernadette was not only the singular candidate, but she was an ideal one. When she thought on it, all Babette really needed was someone loyal and honest, qualities Bernadette had in abundance.

She turned in her seat to face Bernadette, her gaze earnest as she took the maid’s hand in hers. “Bernadette, I… have a confession to make.”

Bernadette gripped her hand, sensing the urgency immediately. “What is it, my lady?”

“You do remember I mentioned Nicolas had a guest staying with him?”

“Oui, of course.”

About to shiver from nerves, Babette took another deep breath. “Well, this guest… is a very old and dear friend of his.” She arranged her words carefully, implementing enough truth to be convincing. “I had been looking forward to meeting him, but… I realized that we were already acquainted.”

Bernadette’s eyes grew wide. “Really? Who was it?”

In a low voice, Babette told her, “I worked beside him at Château du Lac.”

The maid’s jaw dropped. “Oh _no!_ Does—Does M. de Créquy know the truth now? About you?”

“As far as I know, this friend of his has not revealed anything,” Babette admitted, a lump forming in her throat. “What is worse is that I was… quite close with him while I was there, and… I have told him about… my past affairs. I believe, despite that he knows those days are behind me… he does not think me worthy of Nicolas’ hand.”

Bernadette gasped, looking personally offended. “Yes, you _are_!”

To assert how serious she was, she fully turned her body to face Babette, her gaze unwavering. “Mademoiselle, I am sorry I have not congratulated you before now, but may I say I have watched you grow into such an elegant lady. I have seen the looks M. de Créquy gives you, and there is no question he adores you. If a gentleman like him not only approves of you, but is eager to _marry_ you, then no one can deny your worth.” She furrowed her brow with determination. “Who is this friend of his? What is his name?”

Babette pursed her lips, having felt an unexpected pang in her heart at Bernadette’s words before she whispered, “Lumière. He was Nicolas’ valet before he left to become maître d’ at the château.”

Bernadette blinked as she looked away in thought. “Lumière… why does that name sound familiar?”

With a groan, Babette pleaded, “Please do not tell me you have met him, too.”

Bernadette slowly shook her head. “I do not think I have… Oh! Yes, oui, from Marion!”

“Who?”

Bernadette tilted her head, insisting, “You know my cousin, Marion! From the tavern?”

Her confusion cleared in a blink of an eye. “Ah, oui! I suppose that would make sense for them to be acquainted.” A curious eyebrow raised, Babette asked, “She mentioned him to you?”

“At some point, yes. She seemed to like him from what I recall.”

“The majorities tend to,” Babette granted, though she was unable to suppress an eye roll.

“But wait…” A small, doubtful line appeared on Bernadette’s forehead. “If Marion likes him, and Nicolas considers him a close friend… how bad could he really be?”

“Bernadette…” Babette began to warn. Her maid was always more inclined to see the good in others, but that couldn’t be the case this time. She needed her completely on her side.

She glanced at the driver before murmuring gravely, “He tried to reveal the truth about me in front of Nicolas _and_ his parents. I would bet even now he is trying to persuade Nicolas against our marriage.”

Bernadette looked sadly dismayed. “You really think he would do that?”

“Why not?” Babette argued, her tone turning cold. “He does not trust me, nor I him. That is why I need your help.”

Without hesitation, her maid gave a fervent nod and gripped her hands more tightly. “What can I do?”

Every beat of her heart felt dismal as she spoke her commands, but Babette knew deep down it was the wiser thing to do.

“First,” she instructed, “I beg of you, _never_ allow me to be alone with him. He managed to isolate me from Nicolas the other day and…” Her fury was almost rekindled at the thought of Lumière’s words, but she stifled it, sighing, “Oh, never again!”

Before Bernadette could ask why, she pushed on, “Second, as much as discretion will allow, I would like you to make sure he is not alone with Nicolas for too long. I want to prevent any accusations he has of me from being voiced to monsieur in private, as much as I can help it.”

When she saw Bernadette purse her lips, Babette inquired, “What do you think?”

“Well…” The maid perked up to say, “The first shall be easy! I will be sure not to leave your side unless at your request. The second, however…” She grimaced. “I cannot guarantee how I could stay in a room with them after you leave without seeming suspicious.”

“I understand.” Babette pouted her mouth in thought before saying, “I know I am asking for more than I should be, but I promise, I will help you as much as I can.”

Bernadette seemed nervous at the prospect, but nodded compliantly.

After patting her maid’s hand, Babette boldly straightened. “But let’s not forget we are in Paris! We can still have our fun.”

Bernadette brightened as she grinned. “I certainly hope so! It would be quite a shame if we didn’t!”

As they looked to the towering apartments and shops that now surrounded them, their laughter blended in with the chatter of the townspeople meandering by their chaise.


	10. Foolproof

Nicolas was unpacking his things in his usual bedroom at the front when he saw a post chaise come to a halt below. With all due swiftness, he dropped what he was doing and headed downstairs.

His fiancée and her maid had only stepped from the carriage when he greeted them. “Bonsoir, mesdames!" 

Babette looked down from the hôtel’s ivory facade, her features immediately brightening at the sight of him. “Bonsoir, monsieur. How are you?”

“Very well, thank you.” His smile warmed from her glowing expression. “We are just settling in. We only arrived about an hour ago.” He nodded to the petite brunette beside the viscountess. “And you must be Bernadette.”

“Oui, monsieur,” Bernadette acknowledged, curtseying. “ _Enchantée_.”

“Likewise,” he replied with utmost sincerity. “I hope your ride was pleasurable?”

Babette shrugged, wearing a rather beguiling smile. “What else could be expected from driving through the countryside?”

Marc approached from behind Nicolas, a little breathless. “Good evening, mesdames!” he acknowledged with a bow.

“Nice of you to join us,” Nicolas teased before gesturing to the ladies, “This is Marc, our head of house for the week.”

A bit of color rose to Marc’s ears as he made a face. “My apologies for the delay. I was prepping your room, mademoiselle,” he said to Babette. “I hope it is to your liking.”

“I have no doubt it will be,” Babette assured. “Merci.”

Marc curiously watched Bernadette for a moment, but her attention was caught in the detail of the property’s architecture. He casually recovered with, “I shall attend to your luggage then.”

While he went to take their bags from the driver, Babette eyed Bernadette to see if she had noticed his regard, but she seemed perfectly oblivious.

* * *

At Babette’s prompting, Nicolas showed her and Bernadette around the hôtel. He was delighted by her eagerness to see his family’s Parisian home, and it showed how happy he was to have her there. This made Babette’s heart flutter, but then her stomach was tying into knots at the other presence she knew occupied the place. 

On the night Nicolas had visited le Château du la Clayette, Babette had the intention to mention her favor, but once the offer to join them in Paris had been laid on the table, how could she refuse? It kept her from the awkwardness of asking Nicolas to do the work for her; she could keep an eye on Lumière herself.

She had wondered on the way there if she had seemed too fervent in voicing her desire to see Paris again, but Nicolas, especially after a few glasses of wine, had not seemed to notice then or now.

Babette breathed a slow sigh of relief as she admired the rooms and galleries Nicolas presented to them. As long as Nicolas’ opinion of her remained steadfast and good, she could be content.

Nicolas walked a full circuit with them up and around the hôtel before concluding in the dining room, where the glass and silverware had already been set. Although Babette wished she could decline, it undoubtedly would seem suspicious if she went to bed after refusing supper. She knew she should eat, but the knots in her stomach were keeping her preoccupied. She was going to have to sit across from Lumière all week, so she might as well become accustomed to it.

When Nicolas went to pull a chair for Babette next to the head of the table, Bernadette tried to excuse herself.

“Wait, wait,” Babette halted with a stretched-out hand. “Please, join us! I give you all of my permission.”

Bernadette’s eyes widened, stunned. She glanced between her mistress and the kitchen doors before she blinked. “Well… if you insist, my lady.”

“I do!” Babette said, smiling as she referred to the seat next to her.

Nicolas stepped to pull the chair out for Bernadette also. Babette didn’t think her maid’s eyes could get any bigger.

“Mademoiselle?” he offered in a most gentlemanly manner.

Bernadette realized her jaw was unhinged and promptly closed it. “Oui, monsieur,” she breathed. “Merci beaucoup!”

She slowly sat as he pushed her chair in, seeming quite star-struck.

Babette laughed behind closed lips at her maid’s endearing expression. However, she couldn’t help but think how tragic it was Bernadette could be so shocked she was given consent to sit with nobility.

It was true that Bernadette nor any of their servants had ever been indulged to sit with her family even when no company was with them. Though her parents were more progressive than the majority of their class, it was simply a line that was never crossed. The help remained separate from them, despite how esteemed and cared for they were under her parents’ employment.

After working for several weeks in a servant’s shoes, Babette thought the divide rather unnecessary in circumstances like this. With neither sets of parents being present, why shouldn’t Bernadette be allowed to dine with them?

As Nicolas took the spot at the head, Marc came out of the kitchen with a bottle of white wine in one hand and a covered tray in the other. His eyes lit up in surprise at seeing Bernadette sitting next to her mistress. A slight smile crossed his mouth.

After setting the tray at the table’s center, he began to fill their glasses. “Lumière is putting the finishing touches on dinner and should only be a few more minutes.”

At Bernadette’s side, Marc seemed about to prompt her as he poured her wine, but Nicolas said to him, “Marc, when you’re finished in there, you are more than welcome to join us.”

Similar to Bernadette’s look a moment earlier, Marc’s eyes widened. “Oh! I will most certainly take you up on that offer, monsieur, merci!”

“Is, erm…” Nicolas stumbled on the name. “… Pauline still here?”

Marc shook his head. “No, monsieur. I gave her permission to go home for the night.”

The viscount nodded. “ _Bien_. I only wanted to be sure the invitation was extended to everyone.”

“Of course,” Marc acknowledged with a broad grin. He went to leave, but abruptly stopped himself and reached for the tray’s cover. “Excuse me, I almost forgot!” he mustered before scurrying back into the kitchen.

Under the removed silver dome was a varied tray of canapés set into neat and colorful rows. Suddenly, Babette realized how hungry she really was and took to taking a piece for herself, but at longer inspection, it struck her that the hors d’œuvres arrangement had a familiarity to it.

Babette briefly pursed her lips. She had definitely seen this same tray multiple times before while she had worked in Château du Lac’s kitchens. She had even laid out this array herself before, as Lumière had taught her.

Will those days never cease to taunt her?

Managing a deep breath as she chewed, she turned to Nicolas. Only conversation was at her disposal to rid her of this severe sense of déjà vu. “I see you have recovered well from the other night,” she noted with false innocence.

Nicolas grimaced in defeat while trying to hide a smile. “Perhaps with some difficulty.” He glanced behind him to make sure the boys hadn’t emerged from the kitchen, and whispered begrudgingly to them, “Lumière had to wake me yesterday morning.”

Babette arched an eyebrow, a smirk appearing on her scarlet lips. “From your tone, I am assuming he was not very kind.”

He shook his head, his exasperated expression saying it all. “One of his signature characteristics is that he always takes advantage of a good opportunity.”

Dieu, _I know that too well_ , Babette thought as she sipped her wine.

Feeling more confident in her inclusion, Bernadette inquired, “What did he do, if I may ask?”

Nicolas released a chuckle and absentmindedly scratched his chin before he replied, “It involved a _chaufferette_ , a stoker, and plenty of clanging.”

Babette had to laugh. That was all she needed to hear to picture precisely what Lumière had done, and his actions came as no surprise to her.

“I am sorry for your rude awakening,” she said sincerely, though the image was humorous.

“Oh, you are not the one who needs to apologize. I plan on making him feel sorry for it later,” Nicolas murmured forebodingly.

Babette giggled, secretly hoping it would be while she was sleeping in the same home with them. If Lumière deserved anything, it was the taste of his own medicine.

Speaking of the devil, the maître d’ himself swept into the dining room, a bottle of red wine in hand. Marc, a large serving platter in his arms, began setting beautifully garnished plates of tender pork with side dishes of salad and bread.

“Bonsoir, mesdames et monsieur,” Lumière suavely greeted before he began filling each tenant’s second glass, starting with Nicolas. “You all are gifted with the patience of saints! I hope, despite it being a rather humble dinner, it is worth the wait.”

Babette tried not to tense as he neared her, but he moved on to Bernadette quickly after pouring her wine.

“And, mademoiselle, for whom do I have the pleasure of serving?” he addressed to the maid.

At his charming smile and sonorous tone, a rose color brightened her cheeks. “Bernadette, monsieur,” she quietly replied.

“As M. de Créquy has graciously informed you,” he said with a teasing glance at his friend, “I am Lumière.” He inclined his head. “Delighted to make your acquaintance.”

Nicolas scowled at knowing he was overheard as Bernadette responded kindly, “As am I, monsieur. Merci.”

Babette saw Lumière smirk to himself as he went to fill his and Marc’s glasses across from the ladies. He must have noticed her maid’s blush. Though her jaw tightened, she kept from gritting her teeth. _If he gives me one more thing to worry about…_

The vicomte bitterly pointed out to Lumière, “I am glad to have spared you the trouble of telling that story yourself.”

Between setting the bottle down and taking the seat at Nicolas’ left, Lumière paused to act offended. “As though I would _intend_ to embarrass you. And in front of your ladylove, no less! Non, _mon ami,_ you do that well enough on your own without my help.”

Nicolas looked at the girls, his face prominently reading, _See what I have to deal with?_

As Bernadette giggled behind a hand, Babette gave him a small empathetic smile. She understood this was how the two of them functioned, especially since she had been on the receiving end of Lumière’s teasing more times than she could name. But after her last encounter with the maître d’, his prods seemed far sharper. Crueler, even.

 _How better to hide his cynicism?_ she argued as she took up her knife and fork.

Across from her, Lumière watched Babette turn her eyes to her plate. As before, she must intend to keep to herself. At how he had goaded her at their last shared meal, he could hardly blame her. No, he intended to respect her wishes this time. As much as he wanted to reclaim her good opinion through his usual art of persuasion, his charm was more fit to annoy her than appease. He was betting that carefully chosen words and subtle approaches were going to do the job. Since they would be in constant company for the next few days, he was counting on those opportunities when the moments presented themselves.

“So, mesdames,” he addressed, though mostly to Bernadette, “am I right to assume monsieur gave you a tour of our humble lodgings?”

Babette barely deigned him a glance. But with a stifled laugh, Bernadette smiled and replied, “ _Mais oui_ , but I would never dare call any _part_ of this place humble! I am sure monsieur is tired of hearing my compliments, so I will only say once more how marvelously well kept it is, and for a holiday home!”

“Oh, mademoiselle, that is certainly high praise! Alas,” Lumière said with a showman’s remorse, “Nicolas nor myself are deserving of such accolades, and we would be remiss to accept them when the one man responsible for our glistening hôtel is seated among us.”

He looked to Marc as the footman ate a mouthful of bread that made his cheek protrude. Marc blinked at being addressed, eyeing Lumière and Bernadette in turn before swallowing his bread with some difficulty. Bernadette pressed her lips together to prevent a laugh from escaping.

Marc cleared his throat and straightened in his seat. “I suppose I can take some responsibility,” he managed with modesty, nodding to Bernadette. “Merci, mademoiselle. I shall relate your compliments to the maids who helped when I see them next.”

Bernadette’s eyes brightened. “Would you? That would be so kind, thank you!”

Marc smiled back, but soon flitted his eyes back to his food. Lumière thought he saw the footman’s ears flushing.

* * *

After a generally pleasant meal, Lumière and Marc began cleaning up while the rest headed to the salon, but Bernadette stalled at the doorway 

“Actually, messieurs,” she asked after exchanging a parting look with Babette, “would you like my assistance?”

Surprised at her offer, Lumière hesitated in replying, but as he was about to, Marc exclaimed, “No, no, please, go rest!”

At the maid’s uncertain expression, Marc checked himself. “You are very generous to offer, mademoiselle, but truly, I would not wish to make you work after the long hours you drove to travel here. I’m sure you’re exhausted!”

Bernadette grinned. “True, but really, I do not mind! Here…” She walked up to Marc and took the stack of plates and silverware from his hands before heading to the kitchen. “I will start washing these!”

As the door shut behind her, Lumière glanced at a stricken Marc staring after her. The footman quickly averted his gaze to see Lumière’s smirk.

Marc narrowed his eyes. “This is still between us,” he whispered.

“Naturally,” the maître d’ agreed. “And soon it will be between you and her.”

Marc took a deep breath, as though the thought of that made him anxious. Lumière gave him an encouraging clap behind his shoulder before returning the bottles of wine to the pantry.

After the gentlemen had cleared the table, Marc went to stand next to Bernadette at the water basin, taking up a towel to dry what she had cleaned. At seeing this, Lumière quickly snatched three glasses for drinks and made himself scarce.

Upon entering the salon, he saw Nicolas and Babette sitting close together on the chaise, but if either had been doing something they didn’t want others to see, neither showed it. Based on all Lumière knew of both of them, Nicolas certainly would have been the one to react upon his entrance. That managed to put Lumière at ease, if only by a slight margin.

As Lumière walked by them to the armchair, Nicolas eyed the bottle in his hands. “What is that? Hoping to get me into a more drunken state than the other night?”

Lumière playfully balked at the accusation. “Nicolas, such suspicion! What purpose could I have to put you in a stupor when mademoiselle has already been a witness to it?”

“In truth,” Babette corrected rather pointedly, “he carried himself quite well after…” She regarded Nicolas. “What was it? Seven glasses?”

Nicolas shrugged, the glow of the hearth muting the blush that Lumière knew had grown on his cheeks. “Admittedly, I don’t recall the exact number.”

“Either way,” Lumière continued as Babette giggled, “it is not wine I have here, but champagne.”

“Champagne?” Nicolas furrowed his brow in confusion. “What could we be celebrating?”

“ _Mon ami_ , we have plenty to celebrate!”

“ _Do_ we?”

“Of course!” Lumière popped the cork of the bottle before filling the flutes he had set on the side table next to him. “I have not properly congratulated you— _both_ of you—on your engagement, so here I am in the hopes that these will make up for it,” he said as he handed them each a glass.

Nicolas took his drink with a shrug, but he looked pleased with the gesture. However, Lumière was keen to watch Babette’s reaction. Though she accepted her flute willingly, she looked like she was trying to hide her skepticism behind a veil of politeness. While Lumière grabbed his glass, she went to raise the drink to her lips.

“Ah-ah, mademoiselle!” Lumière stopped. “It would be bad luck to drink before I have given my toast.”

“Here we go…” Nicolas muttered with an eyeroll. Babette bit her lip to keep herself from laughing.

Lumière stood straighter, defending rationally, “If I am to bring out a fine bottle of champagne, I must use it properly. Otherwise—”

“It would be a waste?” Nicolas finished knowingly.

“Precisely! You like to deny my influence, but you cannot always hide it.” He smirked at his friend. “I knew I taught you well.”

“At the rate you’re going, we will be drinking flat champagne instead. Then it will _really_ have been a waste.”

“I will keep it brief,” Lumière promised, his gaze straying to Babette. As he raised his glass, his nerves sent the slightest of tremors through his arm, but he managed to say smoothly, “To a happy engagement, and an even happier life together after.”

“And to you, that you may be willing, when the woman is right, to allow your own engagement,” Nicolas offered with a genuine grin.

They drank, but Lumière did so in one gulp. He wanted to immediately fill his glass again, but he knew he had to pace himself. Rushing to get more alcohol into his system as much as he felt he needed it wouldn’t look well. He stifled a grimace. _Why had I not grabbed something stronger?_

“So,” he went on as he took a seat, leaning back into his armchair in an attempt to calm his racing heart. “Before I had interrupted, what was the topic of intrigue between you?”

Unable to meet Babette’s eye, he directed his question more toward Nicolas, who replied, “Nothing as salacious as you might have hoped.”

Prompted by a glance from Nicolas, Babette began to explain, and Lumière forced himself to watch her. “On the way here, I saw posters for a _Concert Spirituel_ tomorrow night.” She shrugged rather meekly. “I don’t know about either of you, but I have not had the pleasure of hearing concert music in quite some time.”

“Those are normally done at Tuileries, oui?” Lumière asked, trying to even his gaze between them.

Babette nodded as Nicolas said, “Yes, at six o’clock. If it’s a nice day, we could spend it taking a promenade around the gardens.” He referred to Lumière with his champagne. “What do think? I’m happy to go if you are, unless you had something else planned.”

Lumière laughed. “You know perfectly well that when in Paris, my itinerary is completely improvised.” He raised an amused eyebrow at his friend. “What did you think I would be doing?"

“Catching up on gossip along Saint-Honoré.”

Remembering, Lumière added with a sly smirk, “At precisely two o’clock on Sundays.”

As he poured himself another glass, Babette hesitated but inquired anyway, “And what would happen at two o’clock?”

The boys exchanged mischievous looks. As Lumière sipped his champagne, the viscount shook his head and chuckled, saying to his betrothed, “Before their salons, the women would visit the shops there.”

This time, the maître d’ watched the viscountess willingly, daring her to criticize. But she looked to be humored at the thought. “To partake in more than gossip, I imagine.”

Despite her knowing look, Lumière asked, “I wonder, has Nicolas told you too much, or am I really so predictable?”

Babette arched an eyebrow paired with the smallest of wry smiles that clearly read, _Which do you think?_ He figured she thought as much. If only _she_ were as easy to predict.

“Saint-Honoré is not far from Tuileries,” she noted. “If you so wish, you could wander there of your own accord.”

Lumière eyed her, catching on to her ploy immediately. “I suppose Nicolas had left out that little detail.”

Babette furrowed her brow, miffed that she had to take the bait. “Which one?”

He tried to keep the triumph from showing in his smile. “He would normally join me. Oui, I could go on my own, but it is never as much fun.”

“At least you can admit it,” Nicolas teased. “But this time, as you can probably guess… I am less inclined to seek out the company of other women.”

“It is almost counterproductive to come to Paris thinking that way.” As Lumière finished off another flute, he saw Babette minutely roll her eyes behind her own glass.

He took a discreet breath to ease himself. Her obvious intolerance of him was cutting more deeply than he had expected it to, than it had previously. It needed to end.

“Perhaps,” the viscount conceded with a grin, “but in any case, do not let us keep you from taking in the usual sights. I would hate to be that man for any monsieur that’s unattached, most of all you.”

Trying to put Babette’s malice out of mind, Lumière mirrored his friend’s expression. “The words of a true _ami de cœur_.” He fingered his empty glass, feeling humbled. “I suppose my company would all but depend on your will to keep it. Both of yours,” he added with a nod to the viscountess.

Nicolas seemed baffled by this statement. “Why wouldn’t we?”

Taking this as a welcome distraction, Lumière replied, “Hmm, I’m not sure, Nicolas!” He brought a facetiously thoughtful hand to his chin. “Maybe you should ask the woman beside you if my presence would ever be deemed unfit in _certain_ situations.”

Lumière’s sarcastic façade broke as he laughed at Nicolas’ embarrassment. “You are very lucky naiveté looks so endearing on you, _mon ami_. It would seem not half as flattering on me.”

At that moment, Babette covered her mouth as she yawned. “Excuse me,” she sincerely said, setting down her empty glass. “I know it is still early, but…”

Nicolas nodded in agreement, standing to lend her hand off the chaise. “I think I am finished for the night, too. Lumière?”

The maître d’ stood from his armchair, having to stretch what he realized had been tension in his back and shoulders, but he knew who was its cause. “I am finding the past two days of travel have caught up with me as well.”

Babette tentatively glanced at the doorway toward the kitchen but led the way upstairs otherwise. Lumière kept himself busy gathering their drinks to avoid parting exchanges with her, but thankfully, that formality also was dropped on her end. Nicolas followed her out while Lumière took their empty flutes and the leftover champagne back to the kitchen.

Bernadette and Marc turned to face him as he pushed the doors open, but again, at least he hadn’t interrupted anything more than innocent conversation. He assumed _both_ would have been startled upon his entrance.

He kindly nodded to Bernadette. “Mademoiselle, your mistress has decided to retire for the evening.”

The maid jumped from her position leaning on the counter. “Oh, _mais oui!_ Merci, monsieur.” She inclined her head to Marc, granting him a meek smile that the footman returned.

“Bonne nuit to you both,” she imparted as she scurried out of the kitchen.

As Lumière set the glasses by the water basin and replaced the bottle’s cork, he eyed Marc. “Well? How is she?”

Marc maintained a casual veneer for the whole of five seconds before his mouth broke into a grin. “She is… quite lovely. I do not believe I have yet met a woman so pure and good.”

“Really?” Lumière balked, proceeding to wash the glasses in the basin. “I thought such angels on earth were a dying breed!”

“I’m serious!” Marc assured as he came to the maître d’s side, his passion tangible. “She did not say a cross word about _anything!_ Not of her mistress, or her position. There is no part of our conversation that seemed she is the least bit aloof or dishonest. Such sincerity!” he sighed like the word was a breath of fresh air.

“Calm yourself, Marc,” Lumière lightly warned. “Becoming too enthralled too soon, no matter how wonderful the mademoiselle may seem, is dangerous.”

“I suppose, but—“

With the attitude of a father, Lumière insisted prudently, “Non, there are no exceptions, even for a sweet girl like Bernadette. One private discussion does not tell you all you need to know. You must keep your mind active. You must doubt who she presents herself to be, as much as you may want to believe her.” He then granted with a shrug, “At least in the beginning.”

Marc observed Lumière for a thoughtful moment as the maître d’ returned his attention to cleaning the flutes. He crossed his arms. “That seems like heavy-handed advice from someone who has made women a hobby.”

Lumière chuckled, grabbing a towel to dry the glasses. “I have had many years to acquaint myself with their ways. I thought like you once, truly! But I have made sure to learn from my mistakes. You are fortunate enough not to have fallen for a woman’s charms so easily until now. Most messieurs cannot speak to having such restraint, myself included.”

“But… not all women are the same.”

“And I praise His name as often as I remember that fact!” Lumière set the last sparkling glass down before giving the footman his full attention. “But think on it, Marc… Imagine if Bernadette was a man instead of a woman.”

“ _What?”_

“Play along! My point will become clear,” Lumière urged, smiling at Marc looking aghast. “Same features, same charms, personality… A petite _garçon_ with dark hair and large brown eyes, who is as polite and heartfelt as any you would come across. How would you react to him?”

Marc looked downright puzzled, but managed to respond, despite his uncertainties, “I would… not be very sure of him.”

“Precisely! You would need to take the time to see if he is to be trusted.”

Marc shook his head as he countered, “But being petite, polite, and heartfelt are not as admirable in a man as it is in a woman.”

“In our society’s eyes, yes, this is true, but that is my point exactly! Those qualities in a man would spur your instinct to be critical, so why should they not do the same when endowed to a woman?”

When doubt crossed Marc’s expression, Lumière added, “Ladies have as much capacity to be cunning as men, maybe even more so. Not to mention they are much better at hiding it.” When he thought of whom embodied this idea, he was sad to see Babette was amongst the first. He withheld a sigh that accompanied a wave of melancholy. “Trust my word as an eyewitness.”

With a grimace, Marc sighed against the counter. “ _Bien,_ I can see what you mean.” He rested his cheek on his fist. “It ruins the romance of it all though, doesn’t it?”

Lumière paused as he hung the flutes back in the cupboard. “Not necessarily. You could take… well, _me_ for example. I am constantly anticipating what a woman will do, yet both parties will find something to enjoy, whether it’s engaging conversation, a bit of banter, or… more passionate pursuits. If done well, neither of you will ever find the romance wanting.”

Marc was silent, his mouth in a contemplative pout, before he began tentatively, “I imagine the four of you will be going about Paris fairly often.”

Lumière arched an eyebrow at the intent his observation was leading toward. “So it would seem. In fact, we will be around Tuileries tomorrow all afternoon and evening.”

Marc nodded, his gaze unwavering. “While I am to stay here.”

Lumière sighed. “Marc, you know you must manage the hôtel while we are not home.”

The footman jumped to assure, “I know, I know! I was not about to ask if I could join you.”

Lumière scrutinized him. Marc had been hired after Lumière had left for his position at Château du Lac, and though he liked the footman and thought he was a good worker, he wouldn’t say they were particularly close. This was actually the first time Marc had tried to ask him for a favor, whatever it was. “All right… Then what _are_ you asking?”

“Well…” Marc was starting to look nervous. “Since you will most likely be spending more time with her than me… could you…?”

Based on previous experience, the maître d’ guessed, “Put in a good word for you?”

“No. I mean…” Marc shyly grimaced. “Not _yet_.”

Lumière had to smile at Marc’s struggle to articulate. “Is there more?”

“ _D’accord_ ,” Marc breathed, looking resolved. “Lumière… based on what I know, you seem to be a good judge of character.”

Lumière chuckled. “This must be a most crucial favor for you to open it with flattery.” When Marc bit his lip, he assured, “I am teasing! I appreciate that you think so.”

Though this was supposed to relieve Marc, it didn’t appear to have any effect on his agitation. He gripped the edge of the counter he was leaning on. “I was hoping, seeing as you will be in Bernadette’s company, if… you could perhaps—“

Lumière completed his thought with a smirk. “Make sure she is as angelic you describe.”

Marc greatly exhaled now that his favor was in the open. “Yes! If it’s not too much trouble. I know this is your holiday and all, but… I would trust you to be certain she is all that she appears to be, especially if what you say is true.”

Lumière made a show of turning it over in his mind. Truthfully, he already had much to concentrate his energies on in not only clearing his name to Babette, but confirming she loved Nicolas alone. Then Augustine’s request was also on the table, but luckily, their goals coincided toward similar ends. What Marc was asking would complicate things, and had little to do with his other priorities.

On second thought…

 _Having an excuse to become close with Bernadette may help me to win over Babette again,_ he realized. Who else would know her better than her maid, after all? Once the idea was sown, Lumière found he couldn’t deny he was able to make it all work.

With a shrug, Lumière said, “I do not see what trouble it would cause.”

Marc’s face brightened with excitement and relief. He hurried to clasp his hand. “Ah, Lumière, you have my unending gratitude!”

“Nonsense!” Lumière waved off, finding Marc’s enthusiasm contagious. “If it may lead to your happiness, _mon ami,_ I am only too glad to play a small part.”

“Thank you, thank you!” Still wearing a huge smile, Marc went to the kitchen doors, but stopped short to inquire, “You will let me know of anything you learn, oui?”

“Simply ask, and you shall receive,” the maître d' answered with grandeur.

Marc laughed. “Wonderful! I will be speaking with you tomorrow night then. Bonne nuit!”

With that, Marc hurried to check on his master before bed.

Lumière swept his eyes over the pristine kitchen, his craving for something stiffer to drink having passed. He was certain— _more_ than certain—that Bernadette would be the key to slipping behind the viscountess’ collected, evasive, and sardonic guises. Her secrets would be revealed, and then he would know exactly how to proceed thereafter.

Perhaps he had been too quick to despair at her unexpected presence, and to doubt his own nimble ingenuity. How dare he!

Now he had a plan, a concrete strategy.

Lumière strode to the door with purpose, wearing the smile of a man who had already won.


	11. Walking on Eggshells

At around half past nine, Lumière emerged from his room. Muted daylight streamed into the vestibule from the windows facing the courtyard, glittering off the brass chandelier that hung above. With a passing glance at Nicolas’ door, he meandered onto the terrace.

The calm, crisp air of the morning greeted him, along with the sounds of traffic passing by beyond the hôtel's walls. Many citizens had long begun their days, but when one was on a holiday with aristocrats, sleeping in was only natural. In fact, he could guarantee Nicolas and Babette were not awake yet.

He leaned his arms on the wrought iron railing, rubbing the rest of the sleep from his eyes. It had taken what seemed like hours to quiet his thoughts the night before. He was glad to have an idea of how to finally resolve their inconspicuous game of tug-of-war, but he knew it wasn’t going to be easy. He needed to tread carefully to avoid vexing Babette further. He couldn’t give her anymore reason to dislike him. At this point, she was not in any position to grant him the benefit of the doubt, nor did he necessarily blame her with how he had retaliated so harshly back in La Clayette.

But it would all be so much simpler if everything were out in the open. If Nicolas had known the truth from the start—

 _Then he would not have dared impede on my own happiness,_ Lumière reasoned. With how Nicolas kept mentioning it, it appeared his friend would like nothing more than to see him in love as much as he was, even though Nicolas would deny his feelings and motives for as long as he could. Though the constant deceit was taxing on his conscience, it was best for both Nicolas and Babette that the viscount did not ever realize the depth of Lumière’s feelings for his future wife. He was already enough of an obstacle without that tidbit being known.

He lifted his head and looked to the sky. A clear, cloudless, cerulean dome of blue. If all else failed, at least the weather would be in their favor.

“Hey! Lumière!”

The maître d’s eyes followed the call from below to see Marc staring up at him from the courtyard. “Oh! Bonjour, Marc!” he pleasantly saluted. “Were you standing there long?”

The footman bounced nervously on the balls of his feet. “Non, I was just about to come wake you! Mademoiselle has been downstairs for almost an hour, and—”

Lumière’s smile dropped in an instant. “Say no more,” he interrupted. “I will be down in a moment.”

He hurried off the terrace before Marc could respond and took to the arcade’s set of stairs. Lumière shook his head, bewildered. _Almost an hour? Why would she be up before nine?_

Marc met him at the foot of the steps and walked with him down the hall towards the dining room, clearly flustered. “I had gone on my morning run to Les Halles for the day’s meat and produce and then I come to find she had been awake as long as me… oh, I feel terrible for not having been here.”

“You have no need to be,” Lumière said in an attempt to soothe. “Mademoiselle is not one to fuss over this sort of thing. I am sure she is not offended in the slightest.”

Marc took a deep breath. “All right, if you are sure.” With an apologetic look, he began to retrace his steps. “Excuse me, I have to bring in the rest of the food.”

Lumière watched Marc’s back for a moment, heaving a sigh. _Into the lioness’s den alone,_ he observed. _I hope her maid is awake as well._

But upon entering the dining room, he realized quickly it was not to be. He hesitated in the doorway as he found himself alone with Babette, who sat in the same seat as the night before, a cup of coffee in one hand and a thick novel under the other as it rested on the table. She was already put together for the day, her hair styled into a crown of braids that led to an elegant chignon. Her satin dress was a dull periwinkle, and as she glanced up, he couldn’t help but notice how well it complemented her eyes.

Composing himself, he nodded to her. “Mademoiselle.”

He saw her eyes briefly sweep his person, a slender eyebrow arching. “Monsieur,” she acknowledged before she returned her attention to her book.

Thinking her aloof behavior was to be expected, Lumière walked leisurely toward the kitchen, but his gaze lingered on her trying to ignore him. He did not want to encourage her hatred, but how was it to be cured unless he made some show of effort?

He paused across from her as she took a sip from her cup. “Did Marc manage to make coffee for you? He seemed to regret not having been able to serve you at all.”

Babette eyed him strangely as she set down her drink. “Non... I made it myself. I have not forgotten how.”

An awkward laugh escaped him without his consent, but he regained his footing in saying, “Of course. I should not have assumed any less.”

She caught on to the reference behind his wording, but her pointed expression was only of prideful concurrence until she turned her eyes once more to the pages of her book.

He furrowed his brow, feeling a twinge of indignation. “I apologize,” he went on, watching with the slightest of pleasure as her concentration was broken again, “that breakfast was not prepared upon your wakening.”

“ _C’est bien_ ,” she seemed to accept, keeping her eyes averted. “I did not expect it to be served so early anyway.”

“Nevertheless,” he said, striving to be lighthearted yet sincere, and the better person, “I feel as though I am being remiss in my duties. Is there anything I can provide for you now, before I prepare breakfast?”

She shook her head, but then focused intently on him, her small smirk giving away her attempt to challenge him. “I scavenged some bread from the kitchen for myself. I hope you do not mind.”

“I am sorry you had to scavenge at all,” he replied honestly, unsure of her angle. “How could I mind when you had no other option?”

With deliberateness, she reasoned, “I am a stranger in your friend’s holiday home.”

“You are a _guest_ in your _fiancé’s_ holiday home,” he immediately corrected, adding with a wry grin, “You are too far-gone to be considered a stranger in any respect.”

His answer notably caught her off-guard. She offered a demure shrug, dropping her gaze. “I suppose that is true,” she had to admit.

Perhaps he was rather desperate for a foothold, but as minute as it was, Lumière believed this reaction was progress. With a hand on the kitchen door, he felt confident enough to casually ask, “Have you normally awoken this early? I could accommodate myself so as not to put you through the same trouble.”

“Please,” Babette entreated in a tone far less subtle, so much that he heard her roll her eyes rather than witness it. “Do not take any pains on my behalf.”

Lumière hid a bitter grimace. _I should have known._ She didn’t believe he was being sincere, although… what evidence did she have to maintain this suspicion?

He began to head into the kitchen, but stopped partway. He had half a mind to ask her then and there, but the boldness of it, an approach he had promised to avoid, made him hesitate. His curiosity won out, however, and he turned to her again, his delicately worded question posed on his tongue, but as he opened his mouth, another presence swept into the room.

“Mademoiselle, I don’t know,” Bernadette said dubiously, looking about the modest and elegant dress of pale saffron satin she wore. “It seems so… _fine_. Besides, I do not think it necessary to—“

The maid cut herself off as she noticed Lumière was in the room, and she blinked in surprise. “Oh! Pardon me, I did not mean to… intrude.” She glanced at Babette apologetically.

“There was nothing to intrude on, mademoiselle,” Lumière took the liberty to say, briefly eyeing the two of them in turn. As usual, Babette purposely kept her gaze away from him. “In fact, I believe it is I who is now intruding. I will leave you ladies be.” With a foot in the kitchen, he smiled warmly at Bernadette. “And if it is any consolation, I think that dress is quite becoming on you.”

He managed to see Bernadette’s cheeks grow rosy before closing the door behind him.

* * *

Babette narrowed her eyes toward the kitchen, but he had disappeared before she could make out his intent. He could try and flatter her all he wanted, but for him to begin weaving his spell on Bernadette?

 _I will_ not _have it_ , she declared to herself with passion.

At least Bernadette seemed unaffected by his compliment: The maid hurried over to her mistress, whispering, “I am so sorry! It took me longer than I thought—“

Babette put a finger to her lips as she stood, and Bernadette silently nodded. Taking her novel but leaving her empty cup, Babette motioned for her maid to follow her out of the dining room.

In the hall, Bernadette went on anxiously, “You weren’t talking to him long, were you?”

Babette shook her head. “Not to worry. It was not as unpleasant as I had anticipated.” She calmed her residual nervousness with a deep breath, fingering the corners of her book’s cover.

Bernadette’s shoulders relaxed at her words as they came to the salon. “He was… cordial, then?” she inquired.

The viscountess took a seat on the chaise. “Oui, very much so,” she confirmed, but Bernadette noted her disapproval.

She sat down next to her mistress, watching her curiously before asking, “And there is something wrong with that?”

“He is trying too hard,” Babette concisely replied. “I could tell yesterday what he intends; it will take a great deal more than a show of good faith and pretty words to win my favor… It will not be so easy the second time,” she muttered more under her breath than to Bernadette.

Then Babette sighed, straightened in her seat, and faced Bernadette with a small smile. “But enough about him. Please, stand for me! I want to see how it lays!”

Bernadette grinned with the humility typical of her character, and with some hesitation, obliged her.

Babette’s smile widened as she looked on. “Oh, _ma chère,_ it fits you so well! And the color brings out your eyes.” She did an excited hop in her seat, absolutely beaming. “I am so glad I thought to bring it with us! Now you will be a lady in the eyes of all who don’t know it.”

Her enthusiasm moved Bernadette, but she had to take pause. “I really appreciate your effort, mademoiselle, but isn’t this… well, deceitful?”

“Not any more so than when Maman compliments Mme. de Blanchefort on her wig,” Babette argued with a smirk. Bernadette giggled. “Not to mention… with the company we will be keeping outside of the hôtel, this will guarantee that you will be treated as an equal wherever we go.”

Sitting back down on the chaise, Bernadette lauded, “You really are too generous to think a simple change in dress will be enough to convince them I am a lady.”

“You would be surprised,” Babette said, chuckling. “Of course, acting the part will only help matters, and you have been a witness to that more times than we can name. Simply do the opposite of everything _I’ve_ done.”

Bernadette hummed a laugh, but assured, “You like to mock yourself, but you truly weren’t as horrible as you believe.”

Babette shrugged, setting aside her book to avoid meeting Bernadette’s eye. “I cannot deny the error of my ways.”

Bernadette leaned forward to see her face, entreating quietly, “Living life as vigorously as you do is not a crime, mistress.”

The viscountess smiled at the endearing manner her maid phrased it. “Perhaps, but there _is_ a right and wrong way to go about showing it. Life is far from a game, and I could not continue treating it as one.” She gave the maid a convincing nod. “I am all the better for my time away.”

Bernadette grinned sweetly in response, but her eyes seemed unsure, even probing.

_Knock, knock._

The women glanced behind them, and at seeing Nicolas, got to their feet.

Babette’s mouth spread into a smile. “Bonjour, _chèri_ ,” she welcomed as he approached.

He took her hand and squeezed it as he kissed her cheek. “Good morning,” he replied, wearing a secret smirk as a blush bloomed where his lips had been. He nodded to Bernadette as she curtseyed. “And to you as well. How are your rooms?” he addressed to both of them. “To your liking, I hope?”

“Need you ask?” Babette teased, feeling more at ease by his presence alone. “’Divine’ is not a word I use often, but your parents’ rooms fit it perfectly. They really do have exquisite taste.”

“Especially when they decorated the gallery!” Bernadette piped in. “It was so charming to step outside the room and be greeted by such lovely pieces.”

“That would be my mother’s handiwork,” Nicolas credited with a knowing smile. “She practically designed the hôtel herself. It was the barest of buildings when it was bought. Now every room has her signature on it.” He shrugged as his dimples showed. “Not that I mind, of course.”

“I can certainly see the resemblance,” Babette noted, glancing around at the salon’s reddish hues and warm textiles.

Nicolas followed where her eyes went, nodding. “It felt infinitely more like a proper home away from home after she was done with it.” While he moved Babette’s hand to the crook of his elbow, he inquired, “Are you ladies hungry? I’m sure Lumière should be finishing up something for us to eat.”

Babette’s gut tightened at the maître d’s name, and she began to wonder if she would ever be able to stomach a meal with him ever again. Despite this, she nodded in consent and let Nicolas lead her from the room, but not before she grabbed for Bernadette’s hand behind her and clutched it for support.

She couldn’t see her maid’s expression, but Bernadette reciprocated with a comforting pulse into her palm.

* * *

After everyone ate, Lumière cleaned up the dining room and kitchen, and Marc went to prepare the carriage and horses while Babette and Nicolas were finishing readying themselves. Bernadette was about to assist the boys in whatever they needed, but they kindly shooed her away, reminding her that she was in the elegant attire of a viscountess, and therefore would be respected as such. Disappointed yet touched, Bernadette indulged them and followed her mistress upstairs.

Arriving at Babette’s chambers, Bernadette found her applying light rouge to her cheeks at the vanity. She approached her at the bench and swept a few of the curls around her shoulders to one side. “I really do love how your hair turned out.”

“ _Merci à toi_ ,” Babette reminded in the mirror before her blue eyes glittered with an idea. “Will you allow me to do you the same honor?”

Bernadette’s eyes widened. “Would you?”

Babette stood from the bench and excitedly ushered her maid onto it. She began combing through Bernadette’s curls with her fingers, pursing her lips in thought. “Did you have any particular style in mind?”

Her excitement was tangible as she answered, “Only any of the ones I never get to wear otherwise!”

The vicomtesse smirked. “I believe I know just the thing.” Taking a comb from the vanity, she took to parting Bernadette’s hair along the crown of her head.

Bernadette watched her mistress through the mirror. “Are you looking forward to today?”

Babette glanced at Bernadette briefly before returning her focus to her hair, smiling as she replied, “Of course! I have never been to a _Concert Spirituel,_ yet I have heard they always have talented musicians playing, both amateur and professional. And the music they play is… elevated. More refined than what we would normally hear in La Clayette.” She started pinning pads of dark wool into the part she had made in Bernadette’s hair. “Do you remember when I had a music tutor?”

“Oh, oui! Remind me, what was his name?”

It took Babette a moment to remember. “Monsieur… Gaultier. His father was a famous lute composer, I suppose. He believed he could be of the same caliber in voice, but the apple fell further from the tree than he wanted to admit,” she said with a giggle. “Anyway, I’m reminded of him because the songs he would try to have me sing felt more eloquent and sophisticated than what I was used to hearing. Unfortunately, I could never get through a song without going flat on those ridiculous high notes.” Babette rolled her eyes as she sighed in frustration. “Maybe now I can finally hear what they are meant to sound like!”

Bernadette beamed. “I cannot wait for the concert then!” She paused before saying sincerely, “In truth, I quite liked listening to you sing.”

Babette laughed, slyly meeting Bernadette’s eye in the mirror. “That is very sweet of you. I am sure it did not sound too harsh before I spoiled such beautiful songs with my lack of talent.”

The dear little maid put on an adorable pout. “There you are, mocking yourself again. And when there is no need!”

“Does being able to laugh at yourself not represent a mature sense of character?” Babette debated rationally. “I at least know my faults. Better to mock them than to parade them believing they are attractive qualities.”

Bernadette couldn’t argue, so she let the subject die as Babette teased her hair and pinned it over the pads of wool.

Gathering Bernadette’s hair into a high chignon save for several select tendrils around the nape of her neck, Babette reversed, “And what about you? Are you eager to see how else we spend our time in Paris?”

“How can I not? I am already enjoying myself!”

Babette became thoughtful, tentatively glancing at Bernadette. “Have you contemplated on… who we will be spending our time with?”

Eying her mistress curiously, Bernadette released a chuckle. “Well, with Messieurs de Créquy and Lumière, naturally.” At a slight pursing of Babette’s lips, a hint of uncertainty flickered in Bernadette’s face as she checked, “Is that right?”

“ _Mais oui_ , you are right,” Babette assured, thinking fast. “And… though we will all be spending time together, we will inevitably be… arranged into pairs.”

Bernadette gave her a tiny nod so as not to mess too much with Babette’s concentration. “I imagined as much.”

When Babette didn’t notice any change in Bernadette’s demeanor, she continued with heavier insinuation, “As I am betrothed to Nicolas, I see it only fit to walk alongside him and be seated by him whenever the situation demands.”

Bernadette blinked as it dawned on her. “So that would mean—”

“I am afraid so,” Babette admitted with remorse at the maid’s unease. “I am sorry to have put you in this position, but know I would have it a much different way if I had it within my power.”

“What am I to do then?” she questioned, her hands beginning to fidget. “All I really know of him is what you have told me… and that he is quite charming in person.”

Babette looked her dead in the eye. “Beware that charm of his. Do not take everything he says to heart. He loves to tease if only to get a great reaction from those around him. That is one of the ways he entertains himself.”

“ _One_ of the ways? What are the others?”

“Well…” Babette sighed, but tried to say as unceremoniously as possible, “With women.”

She froze, dread crossing her face. “Oh no…”

“Non, non, do not fret, _ma chère_ ,” the vicomtesse soothed. “Truly, it is not as bad as that. He mainly enjoys flirtatious banter, and he will not insist on anything unless you play along. We have that in your favor, at least.”

With pleading eyes, Bernadette asked, “So what do I do?”

“Simply be yourself,” Babette advised with confidence. “Let us not give him any reason to wonder what you know. I only want you to be wary of him and whatever his intentions may be. I know I have spoken ill of him, but despite my own reservations, you will get along with him rather well.”

Bernadette chewed on her lip. “You are sure?”

With her hairstyle completed, Babette placed her hands reassuringly on her maid’s shoulders. “You are open and honest, and always see the good in others. Nicolas is just the same, and they are the best of friends.”

Her words seemed to relax Bernadette ever slightly, but hesitation was still in her expression as she focused on the cosmetics and perfumes on the vanity before her.

Babette sat down on the bench beside her, coaxing gently, “I want with all my heart for you to enjoy yourself, and I hope you do. I will do my best to intercede if I notice anything going awry, but I cannot imagine it would be likely. He is still, in most respects, a gentleman. I am sure we will have nothing to worry about,” she added more to reassure herself than Bernadette.

The maid glanced her way, but her gaze seemed watchful. Babette was afraid she had seen her own apprehension of what could potentially result while they were in Paris, but then Bernadette gave her a small smile.

She nodded. “ _Très bien._ I will keep him busy.”

Babette felt such a rush of relief that she pulled her into a hug. “Oh, merci, Bernadette!”

She laughed at her gratitude, returning the embrace. “You’re very welcome, mademoiselle.”

Furrowing her brow with determination, Babette promised, “I will make a note to never burden you with another favor. What I have asked of you is more than enough for a lifetime!”

“Nonsense! I am here to help you with whatever you need, not only as your maid, but…” Bernadette’s eyes shyly went to her lap. “Well, I have hoped that by now… you would consider me as a friend.”

At this discretion, Babette’s heart felt full. She had truly been blind before not to have realized the depth of caring her maid held for her. Her once insatiable need for distraction and escape kept her from seeing she indeed had always had a friend at home outside of her father. Even though it had taken a rude awakening, she was relieved by how much her time away from La Clayette was helping to open her eyes.

She shined a most genuine smile in return. “Without a doubt.”

“Good.” Bernadette then assessed her reflection, tilting her head to see her hair from different angles. The corners of her mouth slowly spread. “Oh, mademoiselle! _Je l’aime!_ I look… so elegant!” With a sideways glance, she wore a surprisingly mischievous smirk. “Those boys will not know what hit them.”

Babette laughed jovially at such a delightfully unexpected reaction from her. A sense of contentment budded at her center as they both touched up their faces in the mirror. As brief as she knew this feeling would be, the loss of it would not detract from what she had gained: Not only an ally, but a friend as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I understand it's a lot of setup just for them to actually walk around Paris, but since they are forced to be in the same proximity all the time, I believe every interaction, especially between Lumière and Babette, is important and must be documented. I apologize if it seems tedious. I hope you're enjoying it otherwise!


	12. Le Jardin Secret

The gentlemen were waiting patiently in the courtyard for Babette and Bernadette to meet them. After some teasing on their part, Nicolas helped both ladies into the carriage before heading in himself, followed by Lumière. Perched in the driver's seat, Marc then shook the reins and they went rolling onto the street toward Tuileries Palace.

It took them fifteen minutes to reach it due to traffic and pedestrians, but in the ostensibly comfortable silence that pervaded the four of them, typically insignificant exchanges did not go unnoticed by vicomtesse or maître d': Lumière observed out of the corner of his eye Nicolas contently watching Babette as she peered out of the window, her inquisitive eyes absorbing everything she saw. What was more, Nicolas did not care to be discreet enough to look away when she caught him. They only smiled playfully at each other.

Feeling the prickling of the wound his envy had left, Lumière forced himself to be prudent and avert his gaze to their surroundings as well. His eyes mostly glazed over what he saw due to his abounding thoughts, but he was not so deep in a reverie to be unaware of the glances Bernadette made from her seat across from him. He met her eye, and based on the way she tried to recover by inclining her head towards the window to consider the road, she had not wanted him to notice.

Lumière tried to hide a smirk as he thought back on how flustered Marc had been upon seeing Bernadette in one of Babette's dresses. His jaw had dropped so low, Lumière was surprised the footman hadn't tripped over it. Though she had been attractive from the start, an upper-crust wardrobe and hairstyle had brought out her high cheekbones, a graceful neck despite her petite stature, and an enticing figure. Lumière was going to attempt to find out how innocent Bernadette really was for Marc's sake, but truthfully, he would have tested her with harmless pokes and prods willingly even without Marc's prompting.

His smile was not sly enough to evade Babette's attention, however, and her impressions of it were far from favorable. Her instinct to protect Bernadette flared, but she knew that until he took any questionable action, she could not say a word to stop him. Only definitive proof could keep him from denying any accusations she made.

The carriage pulled into the roundabout at the foot of the Tuileries Gardens. The tree-lined lane led to the front of the palace's strikingly sophisticated façade a half mile away, as it was clearly intended. Such was the genius and artistry of the day's landscape architects, of which they—notably the ladies—could not wait to admire.

As they came to a stop, Lumière did his duty of assisting both women from the carriage. He thought Babette would deny him the courtesy, but she defied expectation and took his hand to step down onto the sidewalk.

Once again, the familiarity in the softness of her palms struck him, causing his hold to linger. The alluring notion of kissing them, trailing his lips along her arm to graze on her neck, pierced through his barriers so acutely, he retracted his hand as though he had been stung. Whether Babette had noticed or not, she gave no indication, but to ward off the unwelcome image besides, Lumière went to offer Nicolas the same service with all the seriousness of a court jester.

"Oh, _ma charmante mademoiselle—mon cœur!"_ Lumière entreated in marvelously absurd dramatics. "I ardently hope you would never assume I had forgotten you. That I could ever be capable of such disregard, especially when it comes to you, would be as damnable as murder!"

Nicolas eyed him coldly for a moment before suddenly jutting his nose into the air, puffing out his chest as he deftly took Lumière's hand and replied bitterly in a posh accent, "How fortunate for us to agree on _something_."

His friend didn't even make it to the pavement before Lumière broke character from hearty laughter. Nicolas returned to his original, masculine posture before clapping the maître d' on the shoulder, grinning at having clearly given a better response than Lumière had anticipated.

"Where would you like for me to wait for you, monsieur?" Marc inquired from above.

"Outside the courtyard of Tuileries, at around seven-thirty," Nicolas informed. "I think the concert should be done by then. We will try and be prompt."

"There is no need to rush! Take all the time you need," Marc assured with a smile. "Enjoy yourselves!"

He waved to them in farewell, nodding to Bernadette when he caught her eye, before spurring the horses back to the hôtel.

As Mlle. de Chantemerle had predicted, they were consequentially split into pairs: Babette took Nicolas' arm, and Lumière offered Bernadette his. While she accepted it, he certainly had detected a slight hesitation, most likely due to modesty.

 _To a girl of her disposition, I must seem rather intimidating,_ he reasoned, taking a deep breath of the freshest air that they would find in the middle of the city. _I can adjust._

The two servants followed the betrothed pair in their promenade, taking to the south side of the gardens first. As they walked, other well-dressed bourgeoisie passed them, having had similar ideas for a beautiful Sunday afternoon.

Like that morning, the sky was as clear as crystal save for the feeblest of clouds. With no breaks from the sun, many couples and groups sat beneath trimmed trees off of the paths, leaning on the wiry trunks as they lounged on the lawn, chatting and trading gossip.

Arranged in symmetric patterns were skillfully trimmed parterres and bushes surrounding artful flowerbeds. These bright-colored blooms were placed so precisely, not a spot of soil could be seen underneath them.

"So, mademoiselle," he began casually to Bernadette, "are you admiring the gardens, or perhaps imagining how you might improve on them?"

Having been involved in their environment, Bernadette faced him at his address and hummed a couple laughs. "Oh non, I would not dare try to improve them. I am in no place to criticize. But truly, what is there to fix? I think it radiant!"

" _C'est vrai_ ," he concurred amiably. "Have you experienced many others?"

She shook her head, visibly disappointed. "Unfortunately, I have not. At least none so grand as this one. But," she added, her eyes lighting up at the thought, "my mistresses have their own back in La Clayette."

At this new information, Lumière raised his eyebrows. "Do they?" He couldn't recall, but perhaps he had heard Babette speak of it very briefly last winter.

"They do!" she confirmed, her rosebud mouth turning into a smile. "It is not quite so large, as I am sure you have guessed, but it is still beautiful at any angle you view it. Even from above!"

He mirrored her affable expression. "I will take you at your word. I hope in due time I may be privileged enough to see it for myself."

She glanced for a moment ahead at Nicolas and Babette before she shrugged. "I believe it inevitable you will."

"Words of such certainty," he keenly observed, "yet your demeanor gives away your doubt."

"Well… You are on holiday for three weeks, oui?"

"At most, yes."

"Then I imagine you and M. de Créquy will be invited over to le Château de la Clayette after we return. My—" Bernadette stopped herself and watched her mistress again, pursing her mouth. "I am sorry… I may be saying too much."

His curiosity was piqued, but he wisely stifled it. Instead, with a knowing smirk, he said, "That is one habit we seem to have in common."

"Really?" she asked, her widened eyes revealing her curiosity. "I have not gotten that impression. You seem… very well-spoken."

He flashed a genuine grin in her direction. "And you are very generous. In fact… I cannot recall a time when I have been complimented on my speech."

"Perhaps it depends on what you have used it for."

Lumière blinked, pleasantly surprised. "A shrewd suggestion, mademoiselle!" He considered it for a few seconds before admitting, rather impressed, "I believe you are right. I may be articulate, but when it comes to how I direct it, my judgement is rather poor."

She gazed at him as he regarded the palace through the gardens' trees. "Good judgement comes with time, at least from my experience."

"From what I can gather," he said, meeting her eye with a charming smile, "I would guess it did not take you very long then."

Bernadette reflexively laughed a bell-like trill. Color rose in her face even through the pale of her powder. "Oh, that is far from the truth! I may have the best of intentions, but that does not mean I always have good judgement."

Her response struck him mute, ringing through his mind with truth. After a pause, he sighed and murmured, "As of now, I have yet to hear words I agree with so completely."

He felt the maid give him a sideways glance full of inquiry, but when he did not explain, they drifted into silence.

The foursome climbed the southwest stairs leading toward the river. From the higher levels, the views became even more enthralling. On their left was the expanse of Tuileries with the north side of Paris as its background, while to their right was the sight of trading barges sailing under Pont Royal on the glistening Seine. They had to come to a stop to properly admire it all, but not for too long. With the sun beating down on them, and the refreshing breezes too occasional, Babette was soon putting the fan on her wrist to use. They moved to plentiful shade underneath the first trees they came across back on the ground level.

Babette welcomed the chance to lean on a tree's trunk, out-of-breath but doing her best not to make it obvious. She opened her fan again with effortless flair and waved it under her chin. "Would it be insolent of me if I asked why in _le nom de Dieu_ we agree to wear so many layers in such gorgeous weather?"

Nicolas and Bernadette laughed as Lumière merely smiled to himself, his back more to them as he looked out to the rest of the gardens yet to be explored.

"I do mean it as a serious question," Babette clarified, though she grinned at their reactions.

"I'm not sure, _chérie_ ," Nicolas replied. "Why don't we find the people who dictated this be so and beat that very question over their heads?"

"I like this plan!" Babette said with teasing fervor. "And how convenient! I imagine those very persons are here in Paris."

She took a shallow yet dignified breath, maintaining a nonchalance despite the flurry at her breast that was her fan.

Nicolas reached into the inside of his coat and pulled out a hip flask, offering it to his fiancée with a knowing grin. "Would you like something to drink?"

Babette beamed at him in awe as she accepted it. "What is this?"

"A dessert wine," Nicolas simply said, adding with a shrug, "Just in case."

She took three gulps in one swig, lowering it with a look of pure relief. "Oh, _délicieux!_ Merci beaucoup, Nicolas."

"You're welcome." The viscount took his flask back, but not without closing one eye and taking a peek inside it with the other.

Babette playfully pushed him on his arm. "I did _not_ drink it all!"

"No, you did not," he admitted. "Indeed, I believe you left _just_ enough to make one exact spoonful." He held it out to the maid as Babette pouted to hide her smile. "Bernadette, would you like to do the honors?"

"Non merci," she politely declined. "It will go straight to my senses if I do."

"Only drink with a meal?"

Bernadette meekly nodded.

"They would have some food laid out before the concert, oui? It might be early, but perhaps we can make our way to the palace and see for certain," Babette suggested.

"Or," Lumière proposed as he faced the rest of them, "you can allow me to grab a little something to tide you over until we have a proper meal." He referred to Nicolas. "Shall I?"

He felt Babette's critical eyes on him, but he did his best to block her out. Even if he hadn't been trying to soften her, he would have offered, but he was sure she must be assuming it was for her benefit.

Nicolas seemed to favor the idea. "How long will you be?"

"Not long at all." The maître d' gripped his friend's shoulder and smirked. "Guard these ladies well until I return."

"By the air I breathe," Nicolas promised in kind.

Babette watched Lumière head towards the entrance with purposeful strides. She would have thought he would take any and all opportunities to make sure she and Nicolas were not alone as often as was possible. Why would he willingly be letting them be?

 _He may be wanting to leave in me a false sense of security,_ she reasoned. It had happened before at le Château du Lac, when he had tried to cause her disinterested façade to crack. Since his efforts had backfired on both of them, one would think he would have learned from his failures, especially when he was using similar methods on the same person. Babette knew he was smarter than that.

As she continued to stare off in thought, idly keeping her fan going, Nicolas shrugged off his coat.

"Here," he motioned after laying his coat against the tree she leaned on. "Have a seat."

Babette bestowed on him that look of hers that read sheer wonder at such a gesture, like he had just presented her with an unexpected gift. At times, he would be tempted to laugh at how astonished she would seem when he was simply being a gentleman, something that was an innate habit to him, but he came to realize that she reacted the way she did _because_ he was so naturally a gentleman. It was a shame how rare true gentlemen really were, if that was the case, but despite that, a nervous excitement would tickle his insides at this reaction from her, and he reveled in it.

Taking her hand, Nicolas helped Babette lower herself to the ground. Her skirt remained in an ellipse around her as the hoops of her skirt's boning collapsed on themselves, but she shifted them so he could join her. She glanced back at him as he sat beside her, and a singular feeling of admiration flooded her.

The fluttering in her stomach arose, along with a strange yet all-too-familiar romantic impulse, and Babette had to turn away as a spark of fear unsettled her. She looked to Bernadette leaning on a tree opposite them instead.

Nicolas followed her gaze, saying guiltily to the maid, "I am sorry I do not have another coat to offer you, mademoiselle."

Bernadette waved a hand in assurance. "Non, non! Do not fret. I have since grown accustomed to being on my feet for long periods. I am perfectly comfortable."

Babette watched her suspiciously, but found her friend was truly as content as she said; her eyes were gratefully drinking in their pleasant surroundings. With her shoulders back and neck extended, she really did look like a lady.

"Babette," Nicolas prompted, and she returned her attention to him. "When did you say was your last trip to Paris?"

"Oh, _Dieu_ ," she sighed with a shake of her head as she trudged through her memory. "Years! At least not since I was four and ten. And from what I recall, there was no sightseeing involved. I'm sure I would have remembered if we had. They had all been… dull business trips."

Nicolas laughed at her sneer. "That's certainly unfortunate. I can understand why you were so eager to come."

She politely smiled, the fluttering in her gut morphing into a cringe. With a nod, she said, "Thank you for indulging me—us," she corrected, referring to Bernadette.

"Oui! Merci, monsieur," the maid offered with a tiny habitual curtsey.

"Of course! I am already glad to have agreed to your companies." Nicolas leaned against the tree trunk behind him, stretched out his legs, and crossed his arms. "I just hope none of it disappoints."

Babette gave a wry smile. "I can scarcely imagine any disappointment occurring under your patronage, monsieur."

"Perhaps you should give it another day or two."

Babette giggled, reflecting his dimpled grin. She then rested her back on their tree as well, making sure their shoulders were touching. He took no visible notice of this, but she could feel him adjust to counter the slight weight she was pressing on him.

They mutually enjoyed their people-watching, occasionally pointing out the rather beautiful or ridiculously dressed passer-by before, amongst the strolling throngs, a figure in a light blue coat and distinct gold vest emerged.

As Lumière neared their circle, he pulled out some spheres from his bulging pockets until he had three in hand. With a cavalier grin, he began to toss them expertly into the air like street entertainer. " _Un l'en-cas_ as you requested!" he announced before pitching one of the balls to Nicolas.

Babette blinked as she glanced at it. "Oranges?"

"Plucked fresh from the tree," the maître d' concurred, lightly tossing her one from behind his back, which she caught easily.

He then offered the last orange in his hand to Bernadette as Nicolas asked, "Where did you get these?"

Lumière shrugged. "I noticed an orangery as soon as we set foot in the gardens."

Babette arched a brow as Nicolas spoke aloud her thoughts. "So you stole them."

"Only what they would not miss," Lumière reasoned, removing his own snack from his pocket. As Nicolas sighed, he teased, "Do not groan at the hand that feeds, _mon ami._ A 'merci' will more than suffice."

"Fine, fine," the viscount conceded with a smirk, prying open his orange. "Since you went to such lengths…"

Emptying out his pockets with two more oranges, Lumière removed his coat and laid it next to Bernadette. "Mademoiselle?" he gestured implicitly. With a blushing smile, the maid took his extended hand, and right before he lowered her to the ground, he leaned in to whisper, "He learned to do this from _me_."

He grinned at her giggle, taking a seat next to her against the tree, and Babette's eyes narrowed at them before she cast her eyes down to the orange in her hands. Hunger gnawed slightly at her stomach, and she willingly dug into the fruit.

As Bernadette pried her first slice, she inquired to Lumière, "When did you learn to juggle?"

Amused by her question, he beamed at her. "I had plenty of time on my hands before my current occupation."

"In other words, he was easily bored," Nicolas interjected after swallowing a bite of his orange.

"No thanks to you! You were too easy to work for."

"I could have kept you busy if I had felt so inclined!"

"Instead, it was the other way around," Lumière murmured mischievously to Bernadette, who covered her mouth to hide her smile as she chewed.

After a pause, she inquired, "How long have you worked under King Vincent?"

He had to smile at the maid's curiosity. "Over four years. And you, for the Chantemerle?"

She laughed. "A very long time. Since I was eight-years-old."

"So… hardly a decade then."

Smiling at his compliment, she shook her head. "Non. I turned twenty-two-years almost a month ago."

"The prime of your life has only begun."

"That is what I believe, too!" As quickly as she had perked up in agreement, she slumped slightly as she plucked another slice of orange. "But, unfortunately, there are others who beg to differ."

Lumière leaned in, his tone encouraging. "Do not ever let them sway you. I didn't, and look how well I turned out!" He spread his arms impressively, and Bernadette giggled. "In fact, look to M. de Créquy!"

Suspicious, Nicolas glanced up from speaking with Babette. "What about me?"

"You never let your parents or relatives persuade you to marry merely for connections. No less than love would do," Lumière announced admirably.

Babette looked up from her fruit to watch her fiancé. Even _she_ hadn't heard of this.

Bernadette's eyes widened. "Is that true?"

Nicolas eyed Lumière, whom raised an eyebrow expectantly at him while wearing a sly smirk, before nodding. "It is."

The maid's grin grew to glow at the betrothed couple, like she had finally seen some honest good in the world, before she tried to stifle her excitement in the finishing of her snack.

Babette wished she could feel as assured, but Nicolas' history had now come into question.

Of course, she wasn't concerned about his lack of faith. No, not at all! It was his abstinence in faith that gave her pause, such as: Was this the first real courtship he had decided to undertake? For someone who followed his heart as Nicolas did, was he absolutely sure that _she_ was the one?

Stunned, Babette's gaze went to Lumière, whose fading grin seemed to give way to his creeping doubt in having brought up the subject. His eyes passed over her, but he swiftly returned his attentions to Bernadette. They seemed to be getting along swimmingly, just as she had assured her maid.

Though she was trying to smother it, a bitterness kept her from feeling relieved at how comfortable Bernadette appeared with Lumière. Next to her, Nicolas had grown quiet as he tore up what was left of his orange peel into tiny pieces.

She took a deep breath, as deep as she could in that damn dress. _I will not get carried away by my fears_ , she promised herself, and put on a smile to reassure her fiancé.


	13. Concert Spirituel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the concert music they listen to later on, [here's](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=84SAix2-Owc&list=PL5wcQNF8HPAdH_S5bpgK1eHTQxKRtH9rO) the link to the YouTube playlist!
> 
> Translations:  
>  _À l'amour, aux plaisirs…_ \- With love, with pleasures, in the grove, use the beautiful days of your age.
> 
> Enjoy!

Though the weather remained glorious, by the time they reached the palace, they all showed signs of fatigue. Inside, around five o’ clock, other aristocrats and visiting foreigners were milling around the foyer and open parlors nearby, sipping on wine and eating hors d’œuvres. The foursome gratefully took their shares and found a cozy corner of one of the drawing rooms to keep to themselves. Much to their appreciation, the other guests paid them little mind but for the occasional scoff and quizzical eye.

After sating their hunger and thirst for the meantime, they were permitted to take one of the second level boxes, which held four quite comfortably. They took their seats, with the women on the ends and the men between them, but at the sight above and below them, the girls were soon on their feet to lean over the balustrade and glimpse the grandeur of the hall.

The rectangular Salle des Cent Suisses had a hand-painted ceiling of a sky as blue as that very day, with clouds dotting it and cherubs shown floating amongst them. Several crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and gold trim gilded the edges of the hall and green velvet boxes. The heavy curtains were open, and the stage was already set for the orchestra, with chairs arranged in a half-moon around the conductor's stand, a harpsichord in the back, and timpani behind the violins' seats.

Bernadette looked back at Babette, and saw that their excitement was matched.

As Lumière watched them look over the program in their hands, he nudged Nicolas at his left. "How much would you wager they will want to leave at intermission?"

Nicolas snorted. "I think you doubt the sincerity of their enthusiasm."

"Not at all!" the maître d' countered. "I am sure they believe they can withstand over an hour's worth of music. My only doubt is in their resilience."

"Fine," Nicolas agreed with a shrug. "But you will be paying for my next drink."

"What is a drink without a meal to go with it?"

The viscount mirrored Lumière's smirk and shook his hand. "We have a deal."

Soon enough, the musicians were filing onto the stage and taking their places. Chatter still filled the audience as the orchestra went about preparing their instruments, but it was hushed as their tuning reverberated throughout the hall. Two seconds of unmitigated quiet and the conductor walked on to applause. After a bow to his guests and a formal greeting and introduction, he turned to the orchestra. With the swing of his arms, the music began.

"Fanfares" was a very fitting name for the piece, highlighting the horns especially, and what an exciting opening. It put Babette right in the mood. The give-and-take from the conductor and musicians was fascinating to witness, and there was an exchange that would happen between the sections when they would take turns on a motif or episode.

And then it concluded.

It caught her off-guard at first, until after a few seconds, they began again, this time not as full of gusto, but more subdued and refined.

She rolled her eyes at herself. It had truly been several years since she had been to a concert to forget how concertos and suites were organized into movements. It was almost like reading another chapter of a book, or watching the next scene of a play.

Babette let the music wash over her, but once she finally felt herself giving over to it, the movement ended. On some level, she found it disappointing.

Nicolas happened to look over at her as she pouted, and chuckled. "Not to your taste?"

"Non, it is!" she hastily replied. "I had let myself become properly immersed, and then—" As the new movement began, Babette tapped her fan on his thigh as she straightened in her seat. " _Ssh!_ I will tell you later!"

The finale wasn't as grand as she had expected, but it reminded her of the opening. Applause followed as soon as the conductor waved his arm to end the piece. He bowed to them, referred to orchestra, who also bowed in thanks, before singling out the horns, winds, and timpani players. They exited the stage as another man took over the harpsichord, and joined those remaining in another piece.

It was most certainly a different feel than the former. It wasn't as energetic, by far. If there wasn't the semi-frequent sudden forte of the strings, Babette might have been lulled to sleep.

But the next movement was a stark contrast, with much more motion in the melodies, ones that were unique enough from each other to the point where Babette could switch her attention from the violins to the cellos at any time.

Once that ended, the musicians returned to a sluggish pace. Lumière glanced at the program on Bernadette's lap, and sighed. "Largo," indeed. Music this agonizingly slow made him impatient and antsy.

"You must remind me," he whispered to Bernadette, "that if I ever suffer from insomnia to call upon these musicians for assistance."

She bit her lips as a laugh almost breached them. "It _is_ rather relaxing," she admitted.

Nicolas leaned toward Lumière to innocently offer, "I am willing to arrange our deal to include you."

The maître d' smirked. "Nice try."

A pointed cough in their direction made them turn to meet Babette's chastising glare. Arguably wary of receiving her wrath, both men promptly stopped talking.

At least the music's energy soon picked up, so all were more willing to pay attention. The theme from the violins was rather catchy, Lumière had to admit.

Hearing a rhythmic clicking from below him, he glanced down to notice Bernadette's skirt shifting due to her tapping toe.

Bernadette saw him watching her and quickly tucked her foot underneath her seat, a delicate blush blooming on her cheeks. "Sorry," she whispered.

"No, no, please," he murmured back, having to smile at her embarrassment. "Do not become self-conscious on my account."

Though soothed slightly by his reassurance, she still appeared chided. "Well, it is probably not ladylike to react to the music as such, especially in a hall like this."

"What else is music for?" he reasoned. "Besides, you need not be concerned about being a perfect lady in our company. I promise none of us will think of you in any other way."

She grinned before shyly averting her gaze. While she focused again on the stage, he found himself watching her for a moment more, musing on the fact that he just might be on the losing side of a bet.

Clapping ensued at the trio sonata's conclusion with Babette's being quite enthusiastic. " _Magnifique!_ " she uttered. "Each movement was so accurate in their portrayal of the emotions and—and _colors_ —" She looked to Nicolas to check, "Would it be correct to say 'colors?'"

Chuckling at her passion, Nicolas shrugged. "That sounds right to me."

Babette beamed at him and contentedly sighed. "Sheer brilliance!"

Two players with a theorbo and viola de gamba in their hands respectively arranged themselves in the space on stage now devoid of the conductor's box. Then a pretty young woman in a cornflower blue gown with a ruffled bodice and delicate lace cuffs graced them with her presence. Combined with her floating walk and graceful posture, a demureness about her face and expression instigated an almost instant liking for her. As she went to stand between the musicians, she smiled and acknowledged the audience and their polite applause.

With brow furrowed in thought, Lumière elbowed his friend.

Because of his intense attention on the singer as well, Nicolas flinched at the prod. "What?"

Still watching the soprano as the accompaniment began, the maître d' inquired, "Does she look familiar to you?"

"You too?"

They met each other's eyes, both silently hoping this coincidence wasn't for what they were thinking. Bernadette managed to reduce her impending giggle at the exchange into a short tuneful hum, but Babette was trying to ignore them as the woman began to sing two-hundred-year-old poetry of the best kind in a soaring, sweet, and clear tone.

" _À l'amour, aux plaisirs, au bocage,"_ she reminded the crowd, _"employez les beaux jours de votre àge…"_

" _Ah-ha!_ " Lumière loudly whispered, snapping his fingers. "It was from that opera we saw only for a moment, before… You remember."

He gave Nicolas a knowing glance that Babette managed to catch because of a glare she was attempting to pierce him with, but her irritation faded when it struck her what he implied. She blurted, "You mean—"

She immediately clutched at her mouth to silence it when Lumière shot her a look, but this only made Nicolas curiously follow his gaze.

It was the _La Fleur Noire_ trip a few years prior—she was sure of it—but that was the one story Lumière had told her that Nicolas had never repeated. In this elaborate scenario Lumière's visit had conjured, she was not supposed to have a clue about it.

Clearing her throat, she corrected herself, "You mean this…" She glanced at the program to check. "Marie Fel? She performs in opera as well?"

With a humored grimace, Nicolas replied, "Apparently. Strange… That is not where my mind went at first."

Lumière laughed, his thoughts clearly having traveled a similar vein, and he relaxed again in his chair.

Babette took a discreet breath of relief at her swift recovery, and wondered for a moment what Lumière would have done to salvage the slip if she hadn't. As much as her feelings were bitter in regards to him, she can't imagine he would have let her suffer for that.

With a sidelong glance at Nicolas, she had half-expected him to explain why on his own, at least to say that he had left that particular opera early to wander town, or the like… but he hadn't. Would it be noted by him if she _didn't_ ask him why? If she did, then she knew she would be putting him on the spot of something acutely uncomfortable for him to mention. She could picture him getting flustered as he tried to dance around the fact that he had gone to a house of ill repute that night and fallen head-over-heels for a cabaret girl.

She pursed her lips and faced forward. Prudently, she decided to keep quiet.

The next song of Mlle. Fel's became melancholic, with trembling trills that dotted her phrasing. It was lovely, but it was not the mood Babette had been hoping for. She understood the importance of making sure opposites followed each other for contrast, whether be fast to slow or happy to sad, but that did not mean that strategy suited everyone. Babette would much rather listen to more optimistic tunes than otherwise. Of that, she was certain.

"All right, now I _really_ have to know."

Babette jumped at Nicolas' statement and turned to see him wearing that boyish grin of his. "With your mouth in such a tight pout, something must be amiss," he said.

She tried to erase her expression of all strain as she cleverly teased, "Perhaps I was trying to recall having seen this singer before as well. She and I may have even met each other in passing!"

He hesitated only for a second as he discerned her to be joking. "If you have, I beg of you not to make introductions. Or at least forget to mention both of us had abandoned her operatic debut for… the Parisian streets."

At a slight rise in pitch and brief break in eye contact, he certainly proved to Babette his well-concealed discomfort on the subject. She patted his hand and assured, "I am sure even _she_ could understand how claustrophobic an opera house can feel."

He nodded both in agreement and approval, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "Yes, precisely," he said while fitting his hand into hers. "Especially at a premiere!"

A smile grew on her lips. "Let me guess… That was your mother's idea?"

"And we all did our best to humor her," he admitted with a remorseful expression that Babette hummed giggles at. "But my father had fallen asleep before we even left the theatre… My mother was so peeved at us afterwards, she deemed us unfit to escort our own senses!"

He joined her in laughing at the memory, but both covered their mouths when they realized that no music was playing, which only renewed their mirth due to such unfortunate timing.

Lumière eyed them with a mixture of annoyance, resentment, and mild amusement, especially since Nicolas was now the one between them lacking in decorum because of a woman's company. There was no contest on which position he preferred to be in, but despite his chagrin, it was refreshing to see his friend without a care for once.

Almost to follow Nicolas' uncharacteristic behavior, Mlle. Fel went on to explain that her next aria is for an upcoming opera where she is to play _La Folie_ , the spirit of madness. With the orchestra having returned, she snapped right into character at the first chord struck by the cellos. As soon as the strings went into a galloping motive, the elegant soprano became very energetic and carefree, convincingly laughing where it fit the music. She managed to even get the audience laughing because her character found the tragic romance of Apollo and Daphne so delightfully funny.

After the thunderous applause through the hall died out, Nicolas said to Lumière, "I am relieved we are not the only ones who find that myth humorous."

"I always believed that was its intention! The idea of a woman so desperate to get away from a _god_ that she begs to become a _tree?"_ Chuckling, he answered himself, "I would find it much more difficult to take that kind of fable seriously. And what makes it laughable is that the concept is not entirely far-fetched." He turned to Bernadette to confirm, "Mademoiselle, am I correct in assuming so?"

"I could not tell you. Thankfully, I have never been placed in a situation of that kind," she answered truthfully, though she grinned at his playful smirk.

"Whether or not the myth itself is funny," Babette sharply intervened, "I found that it was her portrayal that made it so. She was charming! And to have such agility in that high of range… I only wish I could have even a crumb of her talent," she muttered wistfully.

However, her words were not quiet enough to escape other's ears; Bernadette craned against the back of her seat until Mlle. Chantemerle was in her sights. "Mistress, if I hear you bemoan any more lack of talent, I will wait and watch to volunteer you in front of company so you cannot refuse to perform for them!"

Babette's jaw dropped, stunned at her maid's sudden courage. Though there was teasing in her expression, Bernadette was clearly miffed, and that only baffled the vicomtesse further.

One of the boys broke the silence with a low impressed whistle, which made them all laugh.

After recovering from her awe, Babette replied, "Bernadette, do you really mean what you say?"

Her maid raised her chin. "You are welcome to test me, my lady."

Lumière cocked an eyebrow, watching her with a newfound respect while trying to hide a smile behind the hand his chin rested on. _The girl has spirit!_

"Best not disparage yourself in front of her, _chérie…_ or me for that matter," Nicolas added with a mischievous glint in his eye. Babette pierced him with a glare, but to his credit, he didn't shirk. He gently argued, "She means well to make such a threat."

Wearing an incredulous grin, she prompted, "Do you hear what you say? Think _carefully,_ monsieur."

Nicolas leaned close to his betrothed, taking her hand to whisper, "I do, and it is clear to me that despite perhaps certain extraordinary skills in music, we both believe you are still a marvel to behold."

It might have been the sincerity in which he had spoken, or the tenderness in his eyes that held her fast, but Babette found both grated against her guilt-ridden conscience.

She took her hand from his grasp and eyes from his person. "Please, Nicolas, this is not the time and place for that."

He was silent as she adamantly stared at the stage, watching the musicians enter and reclaim their instruments. Though she refused to look at him again as a trio, including a female flautist, prepped to perform, she could feel the gears of his mind turning rapidly to figure out what he had done wrong. She felt awful, as this was not the first time she had subjected him to his own self-doubt, but she had to focus on undoing the knots that had suddenly fastened in her stomach.

Thankfully, the players began their sonata with the flautist at the forefront. Not only was the music elegant in its melodies and tempi, Babette found herself soothed by watching how invested each was in the music, especially the flautist, who subtly rocked to-and-fro with her own phrases. There was even an enigmatic air to the tunes that they played, which kept her intrigued.

While he didn't _dislike_ the current music, Lumière, on the other hand, was finding it hard to concentrate on it. Though Babette had sincerely been trying to whisper, they were apparently in a circumstance where everything between them could be overheard; He very much wished that wasn't the case. What could have prompted such a curt rebuffing of poor Nicolas? They got on so well, he hadn't yet conceived there could be any kind of conflicts between them.

 _Something else is at work_ , he discerned. _Something that Nicolas does not seem to be aware of… but Bernadette might._

He made a mental note to inquire her about it later—with as much discretion as possible, of course.

For the first time that evening, the four of them had nothing to add when it came time to applaud, despite how the tension had lessened ever slightly. Inadvertently, Lumière and Bernadette exchanged mutually uneasy glances.

As the trio departed, a new gentleman made his way to the harpsichord. At his entrance, there was some more applause, but Babette didn't know why.

Reflexively, she asked, "Who is that?"

Nicolas shrugged. "He must be revered here in town."

Babette watched her betrothed for a moment. His tone was casual, though dulled, like it normally would when he became withdrawn due to discomfort, but again, he did not seem to hold anything against her. She almost wished he would, for it only made her feel worse otherwise.

Respectably dressed in dark colors, the gentleman—a Jacques Duphly, according to the program—acknowledged the applause with grace and took his seat on the instrument's bench. Curiously, to Babette at least, he solemnly bowed his head, gaining focus before lifting his hands carefully to rest on the ebony keys. With a breath, he lunged into his songs. Like Marie Fel, he was perfectly memorized, and he was all the better for it. He had such fine posture, and his fingers seemed to caress every key underneath them, especially in his ornamentations, yet there was an underlying passion that conveyed the character of each piece.

When he completed a song, his hands floated away from the keys and descended lightly to his lap before repeating his process.

Being only an amateur, Lumière observed aspects of M. Duphly's technique for his own use, greatly admiring the harpsichordist's skill, but he soon noted he was not the only one: Next to him, Bernadette leaned eagerly forward on the edge of her seat, visibly enraptured.

At the immediate onset of clapping from the audience, Bernadette faced Lumière in wonder. "Had you seen his fingers move? Such delicacy! It is almost…" She pondered on what word could possibly befit it before choosing with a smile, "Exotic."

He nodded to agree, a mischievous sparkle in his eye as he remarked, "I wonder if other bodies have played so well under his touch."

His grin only widened as her eyebrows shot up. " _Bodies?"_

Becoming an ideal of composure, he replied, "Oui. Of instruments. What else could I have been referring to?"

She responded with a keen look that spoke volumes, which caused them both to laugh, but her eyes soon went to her lap and her cheeks regained that pinkish glow.

Warmly, he requited, "I apologize. I shall keep such crude jokes to myself from now on."

Bernadette thoughtfully watched M. Duphly return a second time to receive the ongoing applause before she softly said, "I wouldn't mind."

He turned to her, quirking a brow. "Wouldn't mind…?"

With a dainty shrug of her shoulders, she replied, "Being the instrument if he is the player."

She had spoken in such a factual tone that Lumière found himself stunned at such an answer coming from her lips, which quickly took on a sly smile.

 _Either she adapts marvelously well to present company, or she has a side of her not so easily seen,_ he discerned. No matter which, she was far exceeding his expectations.

Having to chuckle, he likewise said, "Mademoiselle, I have no doubt that upon encountering you, the roles would be reversed."

With a flattered huff, she dismissed him with a wave of her hand. "Now you are being silly!"

Lumière latticed his fingers as he scrutinized her. "Quite the contrary. When it comes to such matters, I never exaggerate."

At the change of gravity in his tone, Bernadette chose not to reply, but to Lumière, she appeared to maintain her reservations. Of those, he became adamant in altering for her benefit, and he was sure Marc would eagerly assist.

Another round of applause erupted as a tall, broad-boned woman took the stage. She looked well in her thirties, with a confidence and bearing that could not be faked had she not the experience to back them. Based on her reception, she was well-renowned.

The woman, it turned out, was Vittoria Tesi, a highly distinguished actress and contralto from Florence.

"A contralto?" Babette read aloud. "Is that her… voice type?"

"Oui, it is," Nicolas replied, seemingly back to his old self. "A contralto sings lower than a soprano."

Her interest piqued, Babette turned with wide, curious eyes to the intimidating _signora_ now poised to begin.

Two recorders led the orchestra in a fluttering melody, and Tesi's expression softened as she let it wash over her. When she opened her mouth, such richness in tone, full of sincerity and sadness, captured everyone's ear. Her beautifully held notes and melismas were entrancing, especially when, during the repeat, they trembled so delicately through the hall. It brought tears to Babette's eyes that she somehow couldn't prevent. Upon wiping at them, she was astonished at how this Italian singer had enveloped Babette in her own world from the stage just by the music and her expression alone. Save for some possible cognates, she had not understood a word Tesi had sung. But apparently, she hadn't needed to.

Applause was happily given by all, and it was humbly received by _la signora_ , who then, when the crowd quieted, said in perfect French the two arias she was performing were dedicated to a friend and colleague, whom she would always recognize as a talent without parallel, whether he was "in fashion or not."

Babette mimicked Signora Tesi's indignation. On whose authority could music be determined unfashionable? If this… "Vivaldi" had written other pieces of this caliber, why would a respectable person who called themselves a connoisseur refuse to listen to him? Out of spite?

The chorus of horns called her from her contemplation, and she immediately became eager to hear more of this contralto's voice.

Due to her avid focus, she remained unaware that Lumière had seen her emotional reactions to the aria rather easily. When she paid no heed to if others were watching, she could look so endearing! He couldn't help but smile. If only she could regularly be so open with her feelings. If only—

He made sure to avert his eyes in the case that any of them _did_ notice, and followed their gazes to the stage. Surely, this music was energetic and engaging enough to drown out even the most hypothetical of scenarios, though his "ifs" still wanted to persist.

Luckily, he was swiftly appeased. Such a ferocity and anticipation filled _la_ _signora's_ countenance as she persisted through incredible leaps and scales with startling quickness, her scarlet bodice visibly rising and falling as she took lung-filling breaths between phrases. Her range was extraordinary; notes high and low were so strong and solid that she seemed to challenge the horns that echoed her. The four of them were held fixed at this marvelous display of musicianship until that final cadence from the orchestra rang throughout the hall.

To no one's surprise, Signora Tesi was made to return for bows four times before the crowd finally began to disperse.

As the sounds of chatter returned, Nicolas stood to stretch. "Well, _mon ami_ ," he said to Lumière with a mocking kind of nonchalance. "It would appear that in judgement and keen observation, I've finally managed to best you."

"It does my heart good to see you receive your victory so humbly," Lumière countered in a similar way.

Nicolas bore an innocence betraying his delight at being able to say, "I am only following your example."

Lumière narrowed his eyes teasingly at Nicolas' grin before they both attended to their ladies like proper escorts.

The viscount was silent for a moment until he politely prompted Babette with, "Have you any thoughts to share on the concert? You seem to have many."

Clutching the program still in her hand to her chest, Babette sighed. "I have not yet found the words to articulate what I think, but I can at least assure you they are all very much in its favor."

Nicolas smiled at her honesty. "I'm overjoyed to hear it."

She peeked rather demurely up at him as she reciprocated. "I hope… that you also enjoyed yourself. I know I gave little room for a change of mind when I suggested coming here."

Again, her willingness to see him content warmed his heart. "I could not imagine trying to persuade you out of it. Anyway, it was a wonderful idea. It certainly taught a certain someone not to underestimate you ladies again," he added with a sly glance behind him.

"I have thoroughly learned my lesson," Lumière admitted with an obliging incline of his head. "We have acquired the company of ladies with fine tastes, much finer than you or I can willingly admit to having ourselves."

He partly spoke while eyeing Bernadette on his arm, whose secret smile now seemed perpetual.

"M. Lumière, if you insist on bestowing such superfluous compliments on me—"

"Then what, _ma chère_ mademoiselle?" Lumière challenged with delight. "Will you endow on me a similar reprimand as what you gave your poor mistress?"

Bernadette's mouth stood silently open before she was able to utter, "Perhaps… Perhaps I might!"

"Well, since you have not ascertained this for yourself, know that what may seem 'superfluous' comes from a _very_ sincere place," he emphasized with the placement of a palm over his heart. "My exertions only stem from the purest feeling, which, as you must already understand, is not easily controlled or stifled."

"You speak too eloquently to not have some thought arrange your words."

"Ah, but my words flow freely, as naturally as water. Years of practice, _chérie_ , is all that permits me to speak 'eloquently,' as you say," he explained while taking pleasure in the word. "So please, allow me to give praise when I feel it is deserved, and trust that it is founded in a most honest opinion. I would never wish to deceive."

She delicately pursed her lips before replying with regret, "Do not think I distrust what you say, but I would prefer to have your actions prove your words true."

To her relief, he took no offense but commended, "That is a fair and prudent decision, mademoiselle, and I will respect it."

Having been separated by the departing crowd, they did not reunite with Babette and Nicolas until they had exited the building onto the court lined with carriages. Mlle. de Chantemerle was on the lookout for Marc perched on one of them, and did not turn when Nicolas acknowledged their approach.

When Bernadette took to Babette's side, Nicolas gave his friend a look that couldn't be more obvious with implication unless he had fluttered his brow. Lumière denied Nicolas' hopes with a shake of his head full of dismissal. The viscount managed an undeterred shrug of his shoulders before spotting their respectable carriage poking through the dense mass of fidgety horses and elaborate coaches fit for the greatest of egos.

* * *

Despite how surprisingly pleasant the day had eventually become, all were of little words upon their return to the hôtel, but only due to exhaustion. The girls asked that some food to nibble on be brought to their rooms before turning in, and Lumière himself snagged a crust of bread from the kitchen before following Nicolas to their rooms. In between bites, he began to undress, but in the process of changing out of his trousers, a few knocks interrupted the peace.

"Lumière? Do you have a moment?"

The maître d' sighed through the last bit of chewing before snatching up his recently disposed tunic. He should not have expected any less.

Marc's eagerness was visible at the first crack of his chamber door.

Leaning against its frame, Lumière inquired, "Can this not wait until tomorrow?"

The footman's place was checked. Abashed, his eyes dropped to the floor as he retreated a step. "My apologies. Clearly, my… curiosity is much too indulged. It must have been the long hours of your absences." He inclined his head and gave a hasty bow. "I'm sorry to have disturbed you."

At Marc's slumped shoulders, a pang of sympathy rang through Lumière's frame. He sighed as he knocked his forehead gently on the doorframe.

As the footman made it to the stairs, the maître d' stage-whispered, " _Marc!_ "

He spun around with poorly concealed hope, and Lumière opened his door wider, gesturing for him to enter.

The footman skidded through his threshold, and before his questions could ensue, Lumière shut the door and said firmly, but not meanly, "We are keeping this _brief_."

Marc, though he pursed his lips, nodded in agreement. "Of course. I can see you are tired."

After taking a seat on the edge of the bed, his eyes became eager and his feet began tapping excitedly. "So… what is she like? Anything contrary in her character to what I have described?"

Lumière shook his head as a corner of his mouth lifted. "Not from a day's observations, at least. She… well, she impressed me several times today. She is rather intuitive, yet still naïve, which would be suspicious if her words and expression did not ring with such sincerity." He huffed a laugh at as he thought back. "She even has a wit of her own!"

Marc crossed his arms as a satisfied grin grew on his face. "Look how the cynic is now!"

Rolling his eyes, Lumière tried to hide his own smile. "Oh, my cross-examination is far from over. Simply being a charming creature will not do away my doubt."

Marc seemed to be waiting for more. "But… did you enjoy your time with her?"

Lumière quirked a puzzled eyebrow before replying genuinely, "Very much! What else would my calling her 'a charming creature' imply?"

Baffled, the footman spread his hands. "Then what else could there be? It is obvious she is not deceitful!"

The wiser servant corrected with a finger, "As far as we know."

Marc heaved a tired sigh. "What do you mean, Lumière?"

"I have not earned enough of her trust to delve into previous love affairs."

Marc furrowed his brow at the maître d's matter-of-fact tone. "Is that really necessary?"

"If you do not want a broken heart, _mon ami_ , I would say it is the most vital piece of information we can obtain!"

"And knowing about the…" Marc hesitated as he grimaced uncomfortably at the thought. "… other messieurs she has been with will determine that?"

Though sympathetic to Marc's feelings, Lumière affirmed, "I know no better way; it has served me well too many times to count. Not to mention, the topic never fails to break suitable ground in a budding relationship." Stifling the painful truth of that statement to the back of his mind, he comradely patted the footman's shoulder. "Trust me, Marc. If you are as infatuated with this girl as you appear, that kind of information will be invaluable to you."

Lumière then opened his door, and Marc understood his cue. With a thoughtful line in his forehead, he stepped out of the room, but quickly faced the maître d' with quiet determination.

"I plan to speak to her myself tomorrow morning before you leave."

"As you should!" Lumière consented wholeheartedly. "I could see soon enough why one conversation had you so enamored."

Marc smiled, having taken up a petite, angelic visage in his mind's eye. He blinked it away temporarily to acknowledge, "Merci for it all, Lumière."

"Of course! _Merci à toi_ for such a delightful endeavor!" he replied with a broad grin. " _Bonne nuit_."

Lumière began to close his door, but then called after him in a low voice, "When you think of it… I recommend asking her about what she thinks of keyboard players."

Blinking at the odd suggestion, Marc looked about to ask why, but found his inquiry answered upon seeing Lumière's mischievous smirk, who added, "You will enjoy her unique perspective!"

Not knowing how else to respond, Marc nodded his understanding, however vague, and continued to bed. Lumière chuckled to himself as he did the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you clicked on the link to my playlist and listened to the music, then I hope you felt like you were experiencing the concert with the characters. As a music major, it was fun for me to delve into more obscure Baroque music I hadn't studied during my music history course!
> 
> I understand if the music was not to your taste - in other words, “if it’s Baroque, DO fix it!” - and that’s fine! I tried to pick pieces that were more or less tolerable or even enjoyable to the ear, so let me know if I succeeded. I’d be curious to hear your thoughts on the music itself!
> 
> Though my summer is supposed to be busy, it's not meant to be so incredibly hectic that I don't look at this story for weeks at a time, like this past semester. I _am_ making a movie and preparing for my senior recital, but hopefully I can publish updates more quickly... Fingers crossed!


	14. On the Town

_Ding… Ding… Ding…_

Babette angled her ear towards the bedroom door. She counted seven "dings" from the clock in the hall, not that she necessarily needed to know. She had been awake for almost a half hour, patiently waiting in an armchair by the window for the sun to rise over the city.

Leaning her forehead gently against the cool glass, she saw that citizens were finally starting to create traffic on the street below. It still boggled her mind that she was waking up so consistently at dawn alongside the servants and apprentices, even when her mind and heart were so weary from the day before that she confused them for real, physical aches.

To be fair, it had been a very long time prior to her employment as a maid since she had seen a sunrise. They were soothing to watch, even with clouds obscuring some of the view. Not to mention, the world before it peeked above the horizon was so peaceful and quiet. It had even been more so at the château, surrounded by forest and isolated from civilization.

Her sigh briefly fogged up a square of the window before it dissipated. Again came that tiresome sense of longing, and why? For what reason, when the idea of ever going back was not only pointless, but foolish. A daydream—a fantasy was all it was.

Before Babette had been sent to Château du Lac, Bernadette had always woken her up. She used to remain in blissful slumber until her maid would knock on her door. Now there was this waiting—a waiting for the day to begin while her mind ran rampant with what could have been. Most of the time, she would be numb and detached from her thoughts of that period, but not every time. As the thought dwelled, she realized that recently… she was not so numb to them anymore.

_Knock, knock, knock._

" _Dieu merci!"_ Babette breathed, deflating into her chair with relief before jumping out of it to let Bernadette in.

* * *

An hour or so later, Babette calmly made her way down the stairs to the kitchen, making sure that Bernadette accompanied her. She would not make _that_ mistake again. Her cheeks flushed at the memory of it.

As they reached the dining room, to her surprise, she saw place settings already arranged in her and Bernadette's spots at the table.

Before either of them could make a motion to sit down, Lumière strode out of the kitchen with a pot of coffee in one hand and trays of fresh bread and butter and colorful, sliced fruit balancing expertly on the other arm. Babette tried to stem the sudden flare of tension that coursed through her before it could be noticed.

With the grace of a professional, he began setting the trays on the table and pouring the hot drink into their cups as he greeted with his signature enthusiasm, "Bonjour, mesdemoiselles!"

"Bonjour." "Bonjour, monsieur!" came the ladies' adverse replies.

"How kind of you to have this prepared so early," Bernadette acknowledged with a bright smile.

"Oui," Babette mustered. "It really was not necessary."

"Nonsense," Lumière humbly insisted. "As guests of Nicolas, I consider you guests of mine, and as my guests, no effort will be spared on your behalf." Seeing they made no movement to do so, he instructed, "Please, be seated!"

As Babette hesitated, Bernadette walked over to the chair Lumière held for her, pushing it in like a gentleman as she sat. Bernadette looked as delighted at the attention as before.

Babette began to make way to her seat, but realized that Lumière wasn't heading back to the kitchen. He was offering her chair for her as well.

They made eye contact. Babette initially wanted to look away as she had been doing this entire visit thus far. It had only caused her pain and fury to find his former admiration had turned to cold distrust and sardonic humor. But this was not what she saw, in fact. Instead, there was patient expectancy, along with possibly… understanding?

A corner of his mouth lifted, having to be amused even slightly by her tentativeness. She snapped out of it, feeling silly from her own transparency, and took her seat. She could feel his presence keenly behind her, and his closeness only caused her discomfort to grow.

Bernadette then inquired Lumière, "I hope your early rising means you slept well?"

"Naturally, mademoiselle."

Babette discreetly released her held breath as Lumière, wearing a clever grin, meandered around the table to stand across from them. "The recollection of a particular melody did just the trick."

The maid tittered, and it took Babette a moment to recognize that they were indeed sharing a joke. She decided to spoon fruit onto her plate to hide any sign of what she felt, though it was a confusing concoction that she could not and _did_ not want to discern.

She became invested in her _petit déjeuner_ , though Bernadette tried to prompt some light conversation. Babette knew she would not be comfortable until they were in private again. She ate quickly and headed back upstairs before Bernadette was finished, just for a moment to gather herself before another day's fray.

She was so determined in her course that upon turning a corner of the stair, she bumped right into Nicolas.

With an exclamatory gasp, Babette's first instinct was to grab the nearest support, which in this case would be Nicolas' able biceps. Thankfully, the viscount had the proper reflexes to grab the railing, but in his surprise, he ended up bringing her tightly into an embrace with his other arm.

They looked to each other with alarm, and Nicolas blinked at finding Babette so near him. He loosened his hold, but kept a protective hand at her back to be safe. "Are you all right?"

Her face burned, but her voice remained composed. She likewise took her hands from his person to have one on the railing. "Quite all right, merci." An eyebrow flicked upward. "And you?"

Letting his hand fall to his side, he smiled down at her. "Unharmed, though that was certainly a collision!" Sending a single glance upstairs, he added, "I suppose it's fortunate we are engaged, or this would have been a rather compromising position."

She tried to return his smile. "A position with you is never compromising, _ma chère._ " Gesturing to the gallery above, she said,"My apologies, but I am returning to my chambers."

As she took a step around him, his brow furrowed with concern. "Are you sure you're all right? You _do_ look flustered."

" _Certainement_ ," Babette replied with logical ease. "A near disaster on a staircase _will_ cause such an effect."

Nicolas grinned meekly at his small folly. "Yes, of course. And you had something to eat?"

"Yes, Nicolas," she gently assured. "I only wanted some privacy."

"As is your God-given right," he agreed with light-hearted emphasis. "By all means, be on your way."

They both resumed their respective directions, but Nicolas spun back around on the second landing. "Oh, before you go, allow me to ask, how does a promenade of the shops today sound?"

She smiled sincerely this time. " _Merveilleux_."

"Excellent!" he said, beaming back at her and waving her forth. "Carry on, my lady."

Babette did so, and breathed with some relief. Perusing shops sounded like a quiet, relaxed, and particularly uneventful way to spend an afternoon; just what she desired.

* * *

Babette was in the midst of lining her lips with rouge when Bernadette returned. Curiosity enticed her to ask what kind of conversation had kept her maid in the dining room, but Babette knew she was being unreasonable in jumping to such conclusions. Bernadette would not change her alliances so easily, even if the other side _was_ rather persuasive.

Her maid came to lightly sit on the vanity bench beside her as she watched Babette in the mirror. "Do you ever find it tedious?"

Her mistress eyed her, intrigued. "Find what tedious?"

Bernadette shyly shrugged. "Having to maintain an appearance every day."

Babette tried to stifle a snort. "Have I not been obvious in my feelings?"

"You have, but… do you still find it at all enjoyable?"

"Some days, when it is not merely an obligation." She nudged her cosmetics over to Bernadette as she stood from the bench. "I did not manage to inquire last night: How did you get along with M. Lumière?"

"Oh! Um…" Bernadette busied herself with the adding finishing touches to her face while she gathered a response. "Truthfully, he was more accommodating than I expected. I felt… perfectly at ease."

"I am glad to hear it," Babette replied as congenially as possible while she fussed with her dress in the standing mirror across the room. "He seemed delighted by your attentions."

"Like I said, he is very obliging. A man of good humor, too." Bernadette paused as she assessed her work, but her countenance became thoughtful. "There… _was_ a moment—"

Babette found her maid's eyes in an instant. "When? What happened?"

"Nothing!" Bernadette squeaked at her lady's both calm and piercing ferocity. "It was… only a glimpse of… a sadness. But I may have been mistaken."

In an excuse to evade Babette's attention, she began topping off her complexion with powder.

The viscountess tried to make her sigh less audible. "Bernadette, I sincerely admire you for your capacity to sympathize. I wish I was more willing to. But… remember what I told you. He may not deserve your compassion."

Even though it was only in her peripherals, Babette saw the maid's shoulders slump. "I remember," she quietly replied.

When Bernadette didn't say more, Babette glanced over as she crossed the vanity for her own slippers. "Was I ever a topic of discussion between you?"

Bernadette looked alarmed at the idea. "Not at all! How unbecoming _that_ would have been, with you in earshot the entire evening! No, even if there had been a brief moment where you could have been mentioned, it was never attempted." With great dignity, she stood from the bench as she went on, "Not to mention I might have lost any respect I had gained for him."

Babette smiled at her passionate honesty. "Me thinks the lady doth protest too much?"

Seeing Bernadette's horrified expression uncapped Babette's giggles. "I am teasing! I believe you, wholeheartedly."

Though she heaved a sigh of relief, Bernadette became a little miffed. Another laugh escaped her mistress before she entreated, "Forgive me, _chérie._ You have such marvelous reactions to things spoken out of turn, I find it difficult to contain myself."

"So I have heard many times," Bernadette said before shrugging. "I suppose it is better that I unconsciously entertain rather than irritate." Turning from the mirror, she abruptly stopped in her tracks as her brow furrowed. "Unless I _do_ irritate, in which case—"

"Do not worry yourself," Babette soothed with a smirk. " _I_ am more capable of irritating than you are."

Bernadette pouted her lips like she wanted to counter Babette's statement, but wisely moved the subject forward instead. "Do you still believe he is disapproving of you to M. de Créquy?"

Babette could plainly hear her maid's doubt, despite her efforts to stem it. "I recognize that I have no tangible proof to show of his capabilities for deception, but…"

In her reluctance to disclose more, and thus relive different times, Babette drifted off, but Bernadette turned to her with concern. "Deception?" she repeated with quiet awe.

 _Perhaps that word is too strong,_ Babette mused, but on second thought, she did not want to diminish its effect, especially if it kept Bernadette on her guard around him. She lifted her chin, gathering her fortitude before she claimed, "I could tell you stories of my time with him at Château du Lac, but… now is not the time."

Bernadette silently watched her, her face awash with empathy, before nodding. "Of course." She then grabbed Babette's hand. "May we not think any more of it and enjoy today?"

Mlle. de Chantemerle mirrored her sweet, encouraging smile and gave her maid's hand a pulse. " _Mais oui, mon amie._ As much as we can."

With reticules in hand, Babette linked their arms, and they marched comradely out into the gallery.

* * *

The day was turning out nicer than the one before, and as a result brought out many pedestrians, rich and poor alike, to meander the streets for business and for pleasure. Open carriages were taken out of storage so their tenants could greet the cloudless skies. This made the trip to Île de la Cité even more arduous due to the congested traffic, but the foursome didn't mind, and if any of them did, they refused to show it.

Babette sat rather quietly as her attentions kept being drawn to the streets to people-watch. Though Nicolas occasionally glanced at his fiancée, he mainly listened in to Lumière's teasing of Bernadette.

"Did you tell him to ask me about them?" the maid demanded in an attempt to be outraged, but her laughs diminished any kind of intimidation she intended.

Across from her, Lumière was sitting with a content amount of self-assurance. "I may have mentioned it in passing," he replied in feigned naïveté, though he could not hide his delighted smirk entirely.

"What _is_ your opinion of keyboardists?" Nicolas had to inquire, eyeing Bernadette's blush with interest.

Bernadette threw a glare in Lumière's direction, whose eyebrows raised questioningly back at her, but she could not maintain her seriousness for very long. As her smile was revealed, so was his.

He nodded for her to proceed. "Will you tell him, or shall I?"

The maid dressed in a viscountess's gown sat straighter in her seat and ran her gaze critically over his person, looking quite the part of a smug aristocratic woman. "It is of no import," she answered elegantly, turning the other cheek as though to end the discussion. Lumière chuckled at her impersonation.

"Mademoiselle's praise of the harpsichordist from last night was… _enthusiastic_ ," he told Nicolas, implication ringing in his tone.

Nicolas' smile broadened. "Really! I agree, M. Duphly certainly has a talent; I enjoy his playing very much as well. My favorite performance of his was a Rameau suite last year. Delightful melodies!" To Lumière, he said, "Actually, I believe _you_ would enjoy his music. Perhaps we could buy a copy for you to play upon our return home."

Lumière didn't need to see the quick wink Nicolas punctuated his casual suggestion with to comprehend what his friend was trying to do, especially when Bernadette exclaimed, "Play? Do you mean…?"

He gave a brief chastising look to Nicolas before showing his palms to Bernadette. " _C'est vrai_. But please, if you do happen to hear me play, prepare to be disappointed. I could never meet the standard set by M. Duphly."

"Nevertheless, it would be a wonderful privilege to hear you play!" she said, beaming at them both. "I would be thrilled! And then perhaps…" She glanced to her mistress beside her. "… mademoiselle may also favor us with a song or two."

Babette huffed a laugh, exchanging a curious look with her maid. "I am afraid your disappointment will be much keener if I am to be compared with last night's singers."

"It sounds like we may have the makings of a private recital!" Nicolas noted, his eyes twinkling when they landed on Babette.

"Then you will be joining us?" Lumière cunningly prompted.

Nicolas quirked a dubious eyebrow at his friend. "Naturally, as an audience member."

Lumière looked jarred at this declaration, his hand shooting to his bosom. "What? And withhold your _bewitching_ voice from such musically intuitive mesdemoiselles? That is indeed a selfish act on your part!"

Nicolas shook his head at his dramatics. "Lumière, that was over ten years ago."

Lumière turned to the ladies with a playful smile. "He was highly admired as a _garçon_ for his tuneful timbre at Mass." Nicolas hung his head at the memory, but this only encouraged Lumière to add, despite his desire to laugh, "He made every devout madame swoon when he sang solos."

"But I do not sing anymore," Nicolas said adamantly.

As though he had drawn an ace, Lumière countered, "Oh… yes, you do."

Nicolas watched him suspiciously, but then sighed. "What is it you think you know?" he asked in an exhausted tone. "Spit it out."

"As though you do not hum melodies in the bath, especially after a concert or opera your mother has dragged us to." Lumière shook his head chidingly. "Nicolas… have some regard for the ones who have lived with you, _s'il vous plaît._ "

With a sense of victory, Nicolas pointed out, "You even said it yourself! 'Hum!' Not ' _sing_.'"

"Would you rather have me be blunt?" Lumière asked, like he had been doing him a kindness. "I certainly can, if you would like! After all, you know better than anyone how you take advantage of a bath's exceptional acoustics to hear the pleasantness of your own voice." He shrugged before granting, "I will not be modest in saying so for myself."

"I think you've said enough for the both of us."

Undeterred by the viscount's acute gaze, Lumière proclaimed, "Then you admit it!"

"If you will drop the subject."

The maître d' slumped against the back of his seat with a defeated sob. "So you will not be dazzling us with an extraordinary display of your gifts?"

"Not of the musical sort, if they can even be called 'gifts.'"

"Humble to a fault!" Lumière tearfully lauded, patting his friend on the knee. "You do set such a fine example for us all, _mon ami_."

Desperate to alter the discussion's course, Nicolas shifted his sights to the mademoiselle across from him. "See anything interesting, Babette?"

She looked to him as though she hadn't been pretending to listen. "We are along the Seine. It should not be too long now."

He leaned forward to see what she saw. "Why don't we walk from here? I'm aching for open air!" Nicolas knocked on the roof of the carriage, and its glacial pace came to a complete stop. He then opened the door and hopped onto the cobblestone, reaching for Babette's hand. "Hurry, before the drivers behind start cursing at us!"

Babette giggled as she followed him down the rung, livened by his enthusiasm. They both rushed through the stagnant coaches to the sidewalk lining the river ahead of their friends, dodging the truffles a pair of horses had left in their wake.

Upon their exit, Bernadette waved to Marc on his lonely perch as Lumière slapped the side of carriage in farewell. The footman tipped his tricorne hat to them with a half-hearted smile. Lumière certainly sympathized with him; Having to miss out on the escapades they were having, specifically exemplified in Nicolas and Babette's current display of vim and verve, must be heart-breaking indeed.

Along the quay, the lapping of the river and the cries of gulls overhead mingled with the clops of hooves on cobblestone and the coarse shouts of coachmen. All the while, boatmen called commands on their barges, washerwomen sat on the banks scrubbing their laundry, and aspirational bourgeoisie briskly strode toward Pont-Neuf in their best outfits to flaunt their extensively practiced gait and manners.

 _Only in Paris_ , Lumière observed contentedly.

With Bernadette once more on his arm, they followed the betrothed pair down Pont-Notre-Dame as shops and apartments soon obscured the view of the Seine. Three-storied buildings cast a shadow over the street and condensed the din of pedestrians' chatter, but they could still faintly make out between it the gulls' warbles and river's song.

Since Lumière and Bernadette had not the intention to shop nor much money to spare, they and Nicolas allowed Babette to choose whatever store caught her fancy. Thankfully, her decisions kept all their interests in mind. Even if they were merely window shopping, it was the allure of fine craftsmanship that called them through the shops' doors. From beautiful fabric and ribbons to expertly worked wood, metal, and jewelry, they all found something to admire in any shop Babette picked out.

While the boys took a curious glance through a gunsmith's shop, Babette and Bernadette wandered into a millinery across from it. Well-to-do ladies of the viscountess's caliber perused the walls of hats, gloves, and accessories and bustled in and around the counter with their chosen goods. Babette normally would not condone being caught in a shop so populated, but Bernadette was excited by what she saw, especially since it was of the highest fashion, and so led the way. Babette followed closely as Bernadette asked her questions about the merchandise. Though in a class that prided on being fashionable, Babette could not give information of the detail Bernadette was demanding. Babette knew what she liked, and that was precisely what she wore, whether it was particularly in fashion or not. Luckily, the maid was approached by a helpful shopkeeper, whom Bernadette happily turned to after the disappointing answers her mistress had tried to provide. Babette then made her way to the first quiet corner she saw.

For a few moments, Babette was admiring rolls of velvet and patterned muslin in peace until she heard an audible gasp behind her that made her jump. She spun to squint at the girl in annoyance, but found it was Bernadette gawking at a _bergère_ on a display stand. The maid reached for it, but hesitated, looking unsure if she was allowed to.

Babette's irritation faded as she came to her friend's side. "What are you waiting for? Try it on!"

Bernadette blinked back at her. "Should I? But…" With a firm shake of her head, she said, "Non. There would be no point. I am sure I have not the money."

"Even so, _I_ want to see if it would even have been worth it." Babette took the hat from its stand and placed it on Bernadette's curls.

"It even has a pattern underneath!" she cried, beaming up at the hat's underside as Babette tied the ribbons into a bow at the nape of her neck.

Babette appraised it on her maid as an artist would. It was a slightly downcurved straw hat with golden silk ribbons, pale lace overlay, and a matching ostrich feather curving around the crown, fastened to the hat by ruffles on the brim. Tilted at a slight angle, it was most becoming on her. The _bergère_ was not only the perfect size for Bernadette's petite face and figure, but it looked as though it had been made for her saffron gown.

Bernadette began to look self-conscious. "It does not suit me, I'm sure."

" _Au contraire!"_ Babette defied, her contemplative expression morphing into joy. "You must own it immediately!"

"I do not look silly?"

"Hush! If I cannot talk so, then you certainly will not be given the opportunity either." Babette smirked as she untied and took the hat. " _Viens_ , let us make our purchase before the counter is overrun."

Bernadette gripped her arm. "Wait! Babette, I cannot buy it." She considered the floor, her cheeks beginning to glow. "I… cannot afford to."

Babette firmly took her hand. "No matter. I will pay for it."

Her maid glanced up at her in awe. "You will?"

" _Bien sûr_ ," her mistress said, and pressed the maid's hand. "Consider it a gift."

The elation Bernadette emitted was the only thanks Babette needed to be pleased, but Bernadette still whispered feverishly her gratitude until they had left the shop, her new _bergère_ sitting prettily upon her head.


End file.
